


Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

by MiraculousTrash (AdriannaRhode)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bee Miraculous, Fox Miraculous, Identity Reveal, Multi, Non-Superhero AU for the first part, Queerplatonic Relationships, Season 2 spoilers, Turtle Miraculous, adrien agreste as a problem child, alya is bad at monogamy, angsty teenagers, bisexual!Alya, calling Chat Noir a furry and kind of meaning it, dubious descriptions of mma fighting, government corruption for the benefit of Chat Noir, gratuitous Marvel references, incorrect depictions of the French fashion industry, marinette as a natural born fighter, pansexual!chloe, questionable insults to both pop music and jogger sweatpants, underground fighting au, weeb!Adrien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 46,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdriannaRhode/pseuds/MiraculousTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)</p><p>(Re-Written as of December 2017!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I knew a boy who was secretly an underground fighter. I, somewhat guiltily, though that was the tiniest bit sexy. I imagined Adrien Agreste (who is also the tiniest bit sexy) as an underground fighter. This happened. Enjoy!  
> Also, this entire work was born while listening to the album Death of a Bachelor by Panic! at the Disco. I'm sure most of you are trash like me, but listen to it anyway, while you read.
> 
> (Hey kids, it's me. This fic was originally published in May 2016, and when I went to work on it again, I kind of hated it. As of December 2017, chapters 1-20 have been re-edited, and new content has been added. All chapters after #20 are new!)

When Adrien’s mother left, his father stopped being his father. 

Not literally, of course. Gabriel Agreste was still – unfortunately – one hundred percent Adrien’s biological father. But with his wife gone, Gabriel retreated into the world of fashion like a perfectly-dressed hermit. His passion for his work grew into an obsession with being the best in the business, at the expense of everything, including his fourteen-year-old son. 

So most of the time, Adrien was alone. He discovered quickly that he wasn’t good at being alone. 

The first thing he did was force his father’s assistant, Nathalie, to let him attend public school. The second thing he did was become such a problem child that he bounced around public schools at a neck-breaking pace, expelled from each one for something different. He was out on plagiarism charges at his first middle school. Then, out for smoking cigarettes in the lunchroom. Cursing out teachers before exams. Selling weed on the corner outside his classroom. He became Adrien Agreste, family disappointment. It was just for attention, and bad attention, at that, but he was too angry to care. 

Four years later, eighteen-year-old Adrien didn’t give a fuck about anything.

It was his father’s fault, really. He had driven Adrien’s mother away, and ruined all of their lives. He had ignored his son and pushed away everyone in his life. He had made Adrien hate everything, even himself.

\--------------------

Marinette hated Wednesdays. They were the half-point of the week, and they were always a disappointment. Not as hectic as Monday, not as welcome as Friday. Wednesdays were boring, plain and simple. So she sat in her seat, second row, in the aisle, next to her best friend Alya, doodling in her notebook instead of listening to her teacher. 

“I expect you all to turn in your papers to me via email before midnight on Sunday,” the teacher, a pretty young woman in a tight pencil skirt with her hair in an even tighter bun, lectured them, glancing at a boy in the back of the room, “Right, Kim?”

Kim, a tall, muscular track-and-field star, protested, “Hey!”

Chuckles came from all corners of the room, and Marinette smiled to herself. Madame Bustier looked less than pleased.

“Full credit only if it’s on time! Now…back to Gautier.”

Marinette had no interest in Gautier, no offense to the classic French author, so she kept drawing. The clothing design sketch on the margin of her notebook was starting to take shape. It was a dark, form-fitting men’s suit, the jacket cut long into a tailcoat. Literature class always made her want to design something retro. 

“Marinette? Marinette!”

Caught. Damn. Marinette gritted her teeth, not ready to let go of her sketch just yet. Her teacher was walking toward her desk with all intention of confiscating her work, when all of the sudden the classroom door banged open as if it had been kicked. 

“Excuse me!” Madame Bustier exclaimed, forcibly distracted from Marinette and her misdeeds. 

Standing there in the doorway was the most beautiful boy Marinette had ever seen. He had messy blond hair, and big green eyes, and he wore an expression of careful disinterest that rivaled the smirk twitching on the corners of his mouth. He looked, in short, like he had definitely kicked the door open. 

Madame Bustier, teetering between shock and anger, eyed him, “Who are you?” 

“Adrien,” he replied, simply.

“Adrien…oh, Adrien Agreste? You were supposed to be in this class starting on Monday. What happened?”

He looked at her, sizing her up as he answered, “I didn’t come.”

“Okay, well, I’m afraid you have a lot to do to catch up,” the teacher said dubiously, “Someone will have to give you the last few assignments and explain them…”

Before Marinette knew it, before she could stop staring at this exquisite specimen that had appeared in front of her and think up a good excuse to worm her way out of the spotlight, the teacher’s eyes were on her.

“Marinette, you’ll do it, yes?”

Alya elbowed her sharply, eyes wide, but it was too late.

The teacher looked satisfied with her lack of protests, “Believe it or not, you’re one of my best students, Marinette. And maybe this will keep you focused on your own work, too. Now, Gautier…”

Naturally, the only open seat in class was right in front of Marinette, so this boy, Adrien, settled himself there. She stared at the back of his head, mesmerized, as the teacher began lecturing again. 

He was gorgeous. She had never seen someone who looked so much like a runway model. Besides his dirty skinny jeans and the purposeful disarray of his hair, he could be on the cover of a magazine. Or on a billboard. 

He was also silent as the grave. For someone who made that grand of an entrance, Marinette was expecting Adrien to be just as boisterous going forward. But he didn’t speak another word all of class, instead, he sat dutifully taking notes on the rest of the lesson.

Needless to say, Marinette was completely enchanted, so much so that she didn’t noticed class had ended for the day until Adrien turned around and leaned on her desk.

“So, what’s your name again?” he asked, glancing between his phone and her face.

She gaped at him for a few seconds before choking out, “Are…you talking to me?”

“Do you see anyone else here?” 

Marinette actually had to turn around and confirm that everyone else had indeed already left the classroom. He was undoubtedly talking to her. So she willed herself to face him again.

“I’m Marinette.”

Adrien grinned, apparently nonplussed by her confusion. “Pretty name.”

“Oh, um, thanks.”

“Of course.”

If he was really this beautiful and this charming, he was deadly. It made Marinette nervous to just be breathing the same air as him. 

“And you’re catching me up on literature, is that it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I can…um…I can just write down all the assignments for you now, if-”

But Adrien interrupted her, pressing a sticky note onto her desk, “I’m already late for something, but let’s meet up later, okay? You can just go over everything for me.”  
“Later?” she repeated.

“Yeah, we can get coffee or something,” he said, vaguely, flipping a hand at her in a wave goodbye, “Text me.”

As he strolled out the door, black boots that Marinette had just noticed tapping loudly on the tile floors, she looked down at the sticky note. It had his phone number on it.

\--------------

That evening found Marinette FaceTiming with Alya and practically crying in frustration.

“I can’t do this!” she moaned, face buried in a pillow, “He’s so pretty.”

“Pretty weird,” Alya amended.

“Why does this always happen to me?” Marinette asked, pouting.

Alya scoffed, “Always. Overexaggerating much? Girl, chill.”

“I always get paired up with the new kid! But I’m no good with pretty people! When he looked at me, I could actually feel my brain shrivel up and die.”

“Oh, yeah, remember when Juleka moved to town? You couldn’t go ten minutes without tripping over something.”

Marinette let out a little frustrated whine. “This is even _worse_!”

“Because you’re more thirsty for this boy than I am while watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Marinette said sarcastically, “Alya, I can’t even talk to him in complete sentences. I won’t even be able to make plans to meet up. He’ll just wait up for me forever and then flunk literature because I’m an idiot.”

Alya rolled her eyes, “Text him. Like he said to. God, Marinette, it’s a good thing you’re pretty, because you have zero game. Zilch. Nada.” 

“Texting might be okay,” Marinette said.

“Yep. Work those digits. Call me later, girl. Bye.”

And Alya clicked off, leaving Marinette staring at Adrien’s sticky note. 

Texting the number yielded a stream of rapid-fire, one word replies from Adrien. With more than a little difficulty, Marinette managed to arrange to have him come to her parents’ bakery to meet up so she could get this task done as quickly as possible. 

She had decided after Alya’s pep talk that wanted nothing to do with this Adrien, no matter how pretty he was. He was trouble, and she didn’t need any more trouble.

Or, she thought that, until he walked into the bakery.

“Hi, Adrien!” she found herself saying, far too eagerly.

_So much for that._

“Hi,” he replied, leaning against the counter.

Marinette pulled out the list of class assignments that she had prepared in hopes of making some small part of the meetup go smoothly and slid it toward him, “I just wrote everything down. That way you can go.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Not-not that I want you to go. I want you to stay. No, but you don’t have to, I just-”

“Right,” he interrupted, “Thanks, thanks for this, Marinette.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I should probably get started on this right away, I should just…” he pointed at the door.

“Right, right, I understand,” she said.

“Well, alright,” he waved.

Marinette bit her lip, and then blurted, “Wait!”

He turned back, both eyebrows raised now.

“Do you…if you want, we can study together. That way you can make sure you’re caught up,” she said weakly.

“Oh,” he seemed surprised, “Oh, yeah, okay. That would be nice.”

“Okay.”

“I really do have to go, though,” he said, hurrying back toward the exit, “See you in class.”

“Yeah.”

She watched him until she couldn’t make out his blond hair in the sea of people on the sidewalk. 

_____________________________

“Girl, you gotta think faster than that!”

Alya was yelling at her, the next day in class. It was a little unnecessary, considering the lecture had just let out and they were some of the only people left.

“What are you doing, agreeing to help him?” Alya demanded.

Marinette blushed, “Um…because he’s cute?”

“He looks like he smashes car windows for fun,” Alya replied.

“That’s not too far off the mark, actually,” said the boy who sat in front of Alya, a bespectacled aspiring filmmaker named Nino.

Alya looked at him, face scrunched with questions, “What?”

“That’s Adrien Agreste,” Nino explained, as if that covered it.

And apparently for Alya, it did. She grabbed Marinette by both arms and shook her.

“You agreed to be study-buddies with Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette blinked, “I don’t know what that means.”

Alya rolled her eyes, “He’s the son of that fashion designer, Gabriel Agreste.”

“He was a…problem child,” Nino said, “We went to school together a few years ago, and he got expelled like two months in.”

“Expelled?” Alya pressed.

Nino nodded, “He used to steal from lockers and stuff. Cut class. Vandalize. The teachers all hated him. Plus he copied my entire history essay word for word once. Name and all. Turned it in under _my name_ , if you can fucking believe it.”

“Then why did he sit next to you?” Alya asked.

“Familiar face?” Nino shrugged, “Who knows. But you really fucked up this time, Marinette.” 

But Marinette was stuck on a different detail, “Gabriel Agreste. Like…international celebrity, sells his clothes on the avenue Montaigne, outdid Christian Lacroix in a design contest once, Gabriel Agreste?”

“Yes,” Alya said.

“I didn’t know he had a son,” Marinette said.

“They don’t get along. Nobody gets along with Adrien,” Nino said, smiling dourly, “Good luck.”

And as the two girls packed their own things and set out on the walk home, Marinette tried hard not to wither under Alya’s glare.

“How are you going to get out of this?” Alya asked.

Marinette didn’t answer. She looked up at the adorned balconies of the buildings that spanned the streets. It was times like this that Marinette was glad her parents’ bakery was right across the street from the school; she and Alya liked to hang out at one of their houses after school whenever they could swing it, and her turn meant a short walk.

“Maybe I don’t want to get out of it,” Marinette said slowly.

“What?” Alya was dumbfounded.

The girls climbed the narrow staircases of the Dupain-Cheng household up to the pink-polka-dotted loft that served as Marinette’s bedroom. 

She was honest, “Maybe I want to get to know this guy.”

“Mari, that is the worst idea I have ever heard, and it was your idea for us both to get Brazilian waxes for my birthday.”

Marinette looked at her best friend, blue eyes earnest as she sat down on her chaise lounge, “But Alya, aren’t you just a little bit curious about this super gorgeous should-be male model who gets kicked out of schools and hates his famous father?”

Alya considered this, lips pursed, “Gorgeous, yeah, if you like white guys.”

“Alya!”

“Kidding…kind of.”

“He’s just interesting,” Marinette said, “He’s always got somewhere to be, you know? He’s bailed out of studying twice already but from what Nino said, the only thing he does is get into trouble. Where does he go? What’s he doing?”

“I just don’t understand what’s so compelling. He’s a loser, plain and simple,” Alya replied. 

Marinette scooped an overstuffed throw pillow into her lap and fiddled with the tassels on the ends. Alya had a point. There seemed to be nothing redeeming about Adrien Agreste. But he was _new_. He was _exciting_.

“I think I have a crush on him.”

Alya snorted, “You spent exactly twenty minutes in him presence and you have a crush on him? Mari, that’s stupid.”

“I want to hang out with him, not marry him!” Marinette protested, “Why can’t I make friends with the bad boy?”

“You don’t have TIME for this.”

“I can make time!”

“…At least let me get some dirt on him. Then you’ll know if he’s ever, I dunno, killed someone and stuffed their body in a trash compactor,” Alya said finally.

“Thanks for that mental image.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright kids, here we actually get into the AU! I'm a full supporter of the idea that Adrien Agreste is secretly really into anime. Just imagine the possibilities...  
> Disclaimer: I am very much American. A lot of things that I reference in this story are very very Americanized and probably wildly inaccurate in the context of this French cartoon. In contrast, however, I am very familiar with the inner workings of hookah.

_Rosellini 51 black, 59,78/m_

_Soissons 210 bright ivory, 175,99/m_

Prices glared up at Marinette from her phone. School hadn’t started yet, and she was early to class for once, so she was scrolling through wholesale websites in search for fabric that wouldn’t punch a hole through her wallet. Success was limited. Living in the fashion capitol of the world has its perks, but affordable material was not one of them.

“Fashion isn’t cheap, huh?” Alya said, nudging Marinette from her spot beside her at their shared desk, as she peered over Marinette’s shoulder at the screen.

“Nope,” Marinette agreed, “And if I’m ever going to afford a hundred euro a meter for lace, I need to come into some serious money.”

In front of them, Nino chuckled, “Who the fuck pays that much for lace?”

“Marinette is doing some designs for a job application portfolio,” Alya informed him, “She needs to showcase all her best shit to get hired anywhere.”

“That’s…one way to put it,” said Marinette, barely concealing a grin.

The school year was, to put it lightly, coming to a close with all the subtlety and control of a train crashing right through the Centre Pompidou. And Marinette needed a job to pay for university, and a portfolio to get a job, and completed designs to build a portfolio, and she currently had none of those things. Some of her classmates cared about her plight. Some didn’t. Adrien Agreste was in the latter category.

“Have you guys ever tried hookah?” 

Marinette blinked. Adrien had swiveled around in his chair and was propped up on his elbows between the two girls. 

Alya laughed, “You know it.”

Okay, so Alya hadn’t actually gotten Marinette any dirt on Adrien yet. And apparently that wasn’t so necessary. He seemed to be quite the oversharer, regardless of how closed-off he had seemed at first meeting. And Alya had apparently warmed up to Adrien at some point over the last few days. When, Marinette was not sure, but it was relieving that her best friend seemed to be backing away from her instinct to murder the new kid. 

“Do you wanna know the best hookah place in town?” he pressed.

“Absolutely!” said Alya, just as Marinette squeaked, “Huh?”

Adrien ignored her, eyes glittering at Alya, “There’s this amazing little shop on Rue St. Denis.”

“You’re shitting me!” Alya slammed a hand down on the tabletop, “I’ve never seen a lounge down there.”

“Oh, if you like the authentic shit, you’re going to lose your fucking mind,” Adrien said, “It’s expensive as a motherfucker, though.”

“Not if you’re paying,” Alya grinned, looping an arm around Marinette’s shoulders, “It’s Friday night, when are we all going?”

“I’ll text the address to Marinette, I’ll meet you there tonight at seven,” replied Adrien, already typing.

“Deal.”

And that was how Marinette found herself walking down Rue St. Denis with Alya, on her way to meet Adrien Agreste for some apparently top-notch lung-destroying hookah.

“Seriously, Alya, doesn’t that stuff have, like, ten times the nicotine of a pack of cigarettes?” Marinette insisted.

“Oh, well yeah, it does. You’ll be fine, though. You don’t have to smoke anything, this just gets you some supervised Adrien time. And if he’s been hitting it the way I think he’s gonna hit it, I can kick his ass twice as efficiently,” Alya replied.

Marinette snorted, “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime.”

“But since when are you so buddy-buddy with Agreste? I thought you didn’t like him, what gives with agreeing to go out with him?” 

Alya shrugged, “Well, if you’re dead-set on having a little crush on this kid, the least I can do is wingman the hell out of the situation. See, this gives you an excuse to hang out with him, and gives _me_ the chance to make sure I approve of him before you fuck him.”

“Who said I’m trying to fuck him?” 

“Don’t act like you’re not desperate for the rich white-boy D.” 

“Please stop talking.”

“You’re an adult, you can admit it.”

Marinette stuck her fingers into her ears and veered away from Alya. “I don’t know you.” 

Alya laughed, and slung an arm over her best friend’s shoulder and pressed a wet, smacking kiss to her cheek. And Marinette had to laugh, too.

\--------------------

The address Adrien provided led the girls to a worn-out shack of a building sandwiched between two decaying warehouses. Marinette’s instincts told her to abandon all dignity and run for her life, and she just might have if Alya hadn’t been there. As it was, Alya had to bodily drag her in the front door of the place.

Luckily, the inside was slightly more presentable. The décor was hip and polished, with low tables surrounded by piles of cushions, like a fancy Japanese restaurant. 

But the clock on the wall read 7:20, and Adrien was definitely nowhere to be seen.

“Son of a bitch stood us up!” Alya said.

“Maybe he’s running late?” Marinette suggested weakly.

“Running late, my ass,” Alya grumbled. “I’m not paying for this place. I was coming here on Agreste’s dime, man. He’s rich!”

And she marched right up to the burly, spikey-haired kid behind the counter, dragging Marinette with her.

“Hey, me and my friend just got stood up by some idiot, and we were wondering if there’s any good entertainment around here that doesn’t involve the risk of lung cancer and cost more than my Uber home,” Alya said, adding as an afterthought, “No offense.”

The kid, who looked no older than twenty, didn’t look very offended, “Well…there’s Sous-Terre.”

“What’s that?” Alya asked, glancing at Marinette.

“It’s an underground club in the building next door. I don’t know if it would be your kind of thing though,” the kid said, gaze flitting over to Marinette.

“Excuse me?” Marinette snapped. 

The kid shrugged, “It’s a rough kinda place, I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Yeah, thanks, okay,” said Alya, rolling her eyes.

As they walked outside, Alya put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder affectionately.

“Sorry, kid, I guess Agreste is as shady as Nino said…” 

Marinette shrugged, “Right now I just want to get home alive.”

Rue St. Denis was known for being one of the downright worst parts of Paris, which was more than a little sexist, because as far as Marinette could remember from history class, it was just a common location for prostitutes and sex shops. Both of which are admittedly innocuous by nature. But that didn’t mean that the place wasn’t currently crawling with hookers and drug addicts and menacing graffiti, and it didn’t mean that Marinette wasn’t nervous as hell to be around them in the dark. 

“On the other hand…we should _definitely_ check out Sous-Terre,” Alya said.

“Why?”

“Aren’t you curious?” 

Shit. Fuck. Yes, of course she was curious, but did they have to risk even more bodily harm that night? The hookah cashier might have been a little ill-intended and sexist with his warning, but he gave a warning for reason!

But Marinette was a good friend with a weak will, so she caved. “Fine.”

So Alya forced the poor kid from the hookah joint to take them to the door of the underground club and get them inside. The bouncer, a huge guy in a stony grey mask that covered his whole face like a hockey goalie, let them in without a word. 

The warehouse was just a massive and old as it looked from the outside, but from about ten feet up the wall down to the floor, the atmosphere was alive. Strings of fairy lights hung across the ceiling, stretching wall to wall and twinkling like little stars against the creaky old rafters. They walked through a bustling bar area, with tables and chairs comfortably squished together in the dim light. Across the room was a sharply contrasting brightly-lit corner crowded with throngs of people. 

Marinette was the first one to understand.

“Alya,” she said, tugging on her friend’s hand, “Alya!”

“God, Mari, what?” 

“I think this is a fight club.”

Alya yanked her hand out of Marinette’s grip and settled it on her hip, “Why would you say that?”

“Because I just saw a man in mime makeup and a unitard,” Marinette said.

“That could mean anything. Maybe it’s a mime club.”

“Do mimes usually wear wrist tape and have black eyes?”

“Fucking…it’s been a while since I’ve seen a mime, Mari, I don’t fucking know.” 

The noise got louder as they approached that far corner. And once they fought their way through the sweaty crowd, Alya had to admit that Marinette was right. 

The wrestling ring was a pretty big giveaway.

It sat in the middle of the crowd, a four-cornered ring with the same heavy padded ropes as a professional setup would have. Spotlights illuminated the platform in the middle and danced over the crowd, who howled for blood even though the brawl hadn’t started yet. 

“Marinette, this is a fight club!” Alya yelled over the melee.

“I know!”

“Should we leave?”

“What do you mean, should we leave? This is illegal, Alya, of cour-”

But she stopped short.

Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir.

Sure, Adrien had stood her up. But there, in the middle of a makeshift ring in the basement of some grungy hollowed-out building in the worst area of Paris, she found someone else. 

It was some idiot, some maniac, some absolutely heart-stoppingly gorgeous alley cat in a skintight black jumpsuit, with shiny leather boots and gloves and a mask, and to top it all off, a pair of cat ears resting on top of the mop of ruffled blond hair, shit-eating grin in place and flashing green eyes boring into the impressively muscled man in a white tank top and an army-green mask on the other side of the ring.

Marinette could not believe her eyes. And from the way Alya was gripping Marinette’s right arm and digging her nails into the flesh like it was the only thing keeping her on her feet, neither could she. This was a fight club, and here stood this person in a Halloween costume. And it seemed hilariously, deadly serious. 

A man’s jovial voice echoed around the packed darkness of the room, distorted by the echoing microphone, “Alright, alright, y’all, you ready to get going?”

The room screamed their excitement.

“Sounds good! Tonight we have our reigning champion, Animan,” – a round of applause went up for the huge man, who waved grandly, face stoic – “Against Sous-Terre’s own…Chat Noir!” 

Chat Noir swept his arm across his body and bowed. Marinette could see him fully as he turned around, taking in the crowd, and she noticed that he had a tail. An honest-to-God costume tail, made of what looked like a leather belt. 

“Who is _that_?” Marinette yelled to Alya, leaning in close.

“A mental case?” Alya suggested.

“He’s kind of cute.”

“He’s wearing eyeliner!”

Lord help her, he was wearing eyeliner. Marinette felt herself blush as she watched him, all the lithe lines of his body on display thanks to that tight suit.

And just when she thought she hadn’t seen anything as exhilarating as that _body_ , the fight started. 

Marinette could not tell you where he landed punches. She couldn’t tell if he was taking punches at all, actually. She was distracted by the way this idiot in a catsuit was moving, because Jesus Christ, he was living up to his name. He was performing some serious acrobatics as he weaved out of his opponent’s reach, perching on the ropes of the ring and delivering flying kicks with ridiculous accuracy. Somehow, Chat Noir made an illegal underground prize fight look like art. It was like watching a ballet dancer beat the shit out of someone. 

And in the longest minute and seventeen seconds of Marinette’s life, the fight was over. The announcer, who Marinette could now see was a lanky guy in a blue and black mask, was hauling Chat Noir’s arm over his head in a victory stance. Alya was cursing excitedly. And Chat Noir was looking, staring, gazing…right at Marinette.

“I am SO GLAD you talked me into this!” Alya squealed, “That was incredible!”

“I talked you into this?!” Marinette said, feigning offense, “You dragged me in here!” 

“Chat Noir wins tonight’s pool! Three hundred euros, folks!” the announcer’s gleeful voice rang out.

The crowd thinned out after the awarding of the prize money, but Alya and Marinette stayed put. Alya had just become hooked on underground fighting, and she begged Marinette to wait with her so that they could try to meet Chat Noir. How could Marinette turn that down?

As it turned out, there was no trouble meeting Chat Noir, because he came marching right up to them.

“Hey, ladies. Enjoy the fight?” he said.

His voice was low and smooth and biting, and Marinette wanted to swoon.

“You took a hell of a beating,” Alya said, “How do you get the upper hand on a guy like that?” 

And off went Alya and Chat, talking strategy as Marinette tried desperately to keep her gaze above Chat Noir’s waistline. She didn’t trust herself not to take detailed inventory of every piece of anatomy that the skintight leather would allow her to see.

She was snapped back to reality by Chat Noir’s hand on her shoulder. 

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Oh, uh – Marinette.”

“Pretty name,” he smirked.

His gloves were tipped with small, hard plastic claws, and they were grazing her shoulder in a way that definitely should not have felt seductive. 

“Thanks,” she said dumbly.

Chat Noir moved his hand down to hers, “I don’t always have such a _cat_ -tivating audience.”

“Oh…my…” Marinette forgot how to breathe. Puns. He makes _puns_.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, and with a wink, scampered away to talk to the announcer again.

He makes puns. Marinette would have stood there all night staring after him if Alya hadn’t snaked an arm around her shoulders and started leading her toward the door.

“Um, Mari? What’s that in your hand?” Alya asked as they walked.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said, looking down at her fist, which was still clenched the way that Chat Noir had held it.

There was an edge of paper sticking out from the ball of her fist. Dubiously, Marinette unfolded the little square, and nearly screamed.

“Jesus, Marinette, shut the hell up!” Alya yelled.

Whoops. She did not mean to actually scream.

“Alya!” she said, hands shaking as she passed Alya the paper.

It was Chat Noir’s prize check, filled out for three-hundred and forty-three euros. Marinette spun on the spot, desperate to return the money to him, but Chat Noir was gone. He, the announcer, and most of the other club patrons had all left. She turned back to Alya, who was laughing so hard that she was gasping for breath.

“Oh, fuck no! Chat Noir is your sugar daddy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I wonder why no one in superhero narratives can see through obvious disguises. But it makes for easy fanfic so I'm not complaining.
> 
> (I'm an attention whore, guys, comments are welcome and encouraged!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you guys I love weeb!Adrien. Whoops.  
> Disclaimer: Any opinions expressed about the famous breakdance AU are all in good fun. This AU is just kind of similar to that one and I capitalized on the chance to make a joke about it.

“Alya, this isn’t funny!”

“Some guy in a catsuit just beat the shit out of another guy, won three hundred euro, and then gave it to you, out of the kindness of his freaky-ass cat heart? And that’s not funny to you?” Alya choked.

Marinette and Alya were walking home in the crisp night air, the lights of Sous-Terre far behind them, and Alya had not gotten over it yet.

“I have to give this back to him,” Marinette insisted.

Alya looked sidelong at her, “Girl, if he wanted the money he would’ve kept it.”

“But I don’t need this!” 

“Were you or were you now just complaining about needing cash for a design?” Alya asked.

Marinette paused, “Well, yeah, but that was in class! Chat Noir couldn’t have known, the only people there were you and Nino!”

“And Adrien,” Alya pointed out.

“Oh, of course, silly me. Adrien Agreste, who I just met and to whom I can’t say more than three words in a row, overheard that I needed money and just happened to be in a prize fighting club on this exact night. Obviously,” Marinette deadpanned.

Both girls burst out laughing. They were just starting to reach the familiar streets that led to Marinette’s house.

“But seriously, you needed cash, he gave you cash. Don’t sweat it,” Alya said.

“I still feel like I need to make it up to him,” Marinette said.

Alya shrugged, “Okay, how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well…maybe you can make some money Chat Noir style,” said Alya, grinning slowly.

“What are you talking about?”

As they made their way down Marinette’s street, Alya produced a crumpled, brightly-colored flyer. It was emblazoned with a drawing of a toned girl in a fox costume, and the text read “Ladies’ Night”, with a date set a week from then. 

“Ta-da!” 

Marinette stared at Alya’s pocketless crop top and skirt outfit in dismay, “Where were you keeping that?!”

“Unimportant,” Alya said, “Look, Sous-Terre does women’s fighting too!”

No. No no no. A hundred times no.

“You’re telling me,” Marinette said, unlocking the front door of her parents’ bakery, “That you want me to start underground fighting?”

“Yes!” Alya crowed as they crept inside. 

“No!”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I’ve seen exactly one fight in my whole life, and that was an hour ago. Second of all, I can’t fight! And third of all, it’s illegal!” Marinette whispered fervently.

“Maybe not so illegal,” Alya said.

“What?”

Alya smirked, “Well, when you were flirting with Chat Noir, I was checking up on the place.”

“We were not flirting,” Marinette grumbled, opening the trapdoor into her room.

“Sorry, _talking_. So I Googled Sous-Terre and it turns out that the place is totally clean. Somehow, someone there wormed their way in good with local government. Police turn a blind eye. They have a good liquor license. The whole shebang,” Alya explained.

“How is that possible?” 

“Hell if I know,” said Alya, “But c’mon! I know you’re hooked.”

“It’s not like this is some kind of breakdance club, Alya. This is dangerous.”

Alya flopped back onto Marinette’s chaise lounge, “I’ve been taking Muay Thai since I was six. You were a ballet dancer for like eight years. We might be good at this!”

“Alya! I’m not beating people up for fun!”

“Not just for fun. For money!”

“That’s even worse!”

“Okay, okay,” Alya said, “How about this: we just…make some cool outfits and nicknames, and we go down to Ladies’ Night and just check the place out?”

Marinette made a face, “Why would we need outfits?”

“We were some of the only people in civilian clothes, didn’t you notice?”

Looking back, that was true. Everyone, from the bouncer to the fighters to the bar patrons, wore some kind of mask or costume. 

“It seems like it’s kind of an anonymous club,” Alya continued, “So people can go and duke it out without any kind of repercussions.”

“Why do you keep trying to get me to do bad things?!” Marinette exclaimed.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to make friends with the bad boy, remember? And you did, kinda! It’s just…not Adrien, instead it’s a hundred underground fighters. Pretty lit.”

Marinette froze, “Adrien…oh, shit. I’m supposed to study with Adrien tonight, too.”

“Honestly, fuck that guy,” Alya shrugged. 

“I’m trying,” Marinette muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You SAID IT!”

“I said no such thing.”

“You did and you know it,” Alya said triumphantly. 

“Shut up, it was a slip of the tongue. Freudian slip.”

“That’s not even what a Freudian slip _is_.”

“Alya, focus.”

“Okay, okay, just say you can’t help him. Simple.”

“It…might be part of my participation grade now,” Marinette said sheepishly.

Alya rolled her eyes, “Jesus, I was making out with Nino in the hallway for two minutes, and you get this shit put on your transcript?!”

Marinette sat up, “Wait, what?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

“Why are you giving me so much shit if you’re making out with Nino – our Nino, Nino Lahiffe – in the hallway during school hours?!” Marinette cried.

“Because Nino is a model citizen!”

“He wants to be a DJ when he grows up!”

“No, correction, he is a DJ _currently_.”

“That’s not better!”

Marinette caught Alya’s eye, both of their faces contorted with fake rage as they play-argued, and smiled. 

“We’re fucking dumb,” Alya said. 

“Yeah, I know.”

\--------------------

“What the hell is Lady Wifi?” Marinette asked, looking down at the sketch Alya had slid to her. 

“That’s my stage name!”

It was Saturday afternoon, the sun filtering bright and warm through the window, and both girls were doodling away at Marinette’s desk. Alya had spent the night, and she had cajoled and prodded Marinette until she agreed to the plan. They would use some of Chat Noir’s prize money to make kickass fighting outfits, and if nothing else, they would slay the fashion game at Sous-Terre. At least, that was how Alya had explained it.

Marinette was doing the part of the work that she liked best: designing their outfits. All she needed was Alya’s theme, but this…

“Why that?” Marinette clarified.

Alya grinned, “I dunno. I’m a blogger, I use a lot of wifi. If I had to save one thing in my house from a fire, it would be my wireless router. Or my phone. Or both.”

“You look like a supervillain.”

“Good.”

Marinette laughed, “Okay, what about this?”

She drew a few lines over Alya’s sketch with her pencil, dividing the garish jumpsuit Alya had drawn into a pair of high-cut leggings and a long-sleeved crop top.

“That’ll emphasize your waist,” she said.

Alya studied the drawing, “Perfect. And for you?”

Marinette blushed. She handed Alya her leaf of drawing paper, and watched anxiously as a smile spread over Alya’s face.

“This is adorable.” 

“Really?” Marinette perked up.

“Yeah, all you need are antennae,” Alya teased.

“Shut up.”

Marinette had put in way more time on her outfit than she had anticipated wanting to do. She had sketched a red sports bra and matching high-waisted leggings, both done up with black spots.

“Ladybug. You’re Ladybug,” said Alya, satisfied. 

“Exactly.”

“That’s adorable.”

Marinette smirked sidelong at her friend, “It’s better than Lady Wifi, that’s for sure.”

“You wound me.”

“It sounds like a commercial for a prepaid phone that old people buy,” Marinette teased, “Lady Wifi presents the Jitterbug, now with larger buttons and an easy-read display!”

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

“Oooh, you know what we forgot?!” Alya exclaimed, jokes forgotten momentarily.

“What?”

“Masks.”

Marinette chewed the end of her pencil. She colored a black mask on Alya’s sketch, and a suitably dotted one on her own. 

Alya looked at them in approval, “Perfect.”

\--------------------

“I didn’t know you smoked cigarettes.”

Marinette regretted those stupid words as soon as she said them. She had literally just met the guy a few days earlier, and according to the stories Alya had finally dug up from the rumor mill (none of them, luckily, involving murder), there were very few things Adrien Agreste didn’t smoke.

The evening had turned warm and buttery, with the sun just beginning to set behind the rooftops of Paris. As soon as Alya left, Marinette had texted Adrien (after about nine discarded drafts) and arranged to meet him at the park next to her house so that they could go over homework. He arrived in a worn red plaid shirt and a haze of nicotine smoke.

“How’d you get out of the house at dinnertime, Princess?” he asked, chewing on the brown filter of said cigarette.

Princess? Well then. That was new.

“My parents let me see friends whenever I want as long as my grades stay up and I’m safe,” she said honestly.

Adrien smirked at her, “You’re safe with me.”

“I…certainly hope I am.”

“Yeah. Well. Do you wanna do homework for lit class, or do you wanna do something fun?” 

“I don’t think we have the same definition of fun,” Marinette said, the smoothness of her own words surprising her.

He chuckled, “C’mon.”

For someone who dressed and acted like a _Grease_ reject, Adrien was surprisingly sweet. As soon as they started walking, he stubbed out the cigarette and threw the butt in a garbage can’s ashtray, which Marinette appreciated. Not a litterbug, that was one positive. He was leading her in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, and she was relieved that she had least that much understanding of what was happening.

“Really, what do you usually do for fun?” she pressed.

Adrien let that sneaky smile overtake his face again, “What kind of fun?”

“I dunno…what did you do, like, last weekend?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, glancing side-eyed at her, “I think last weekend was the party at the Sorbonne. Drunk pre-meds and some rubber gloves. Great stuff.”

Marinette’s eye’s widened, “What?”

“It was just a party. A big party. Some guys had just come back from America and they met some fraternity guys there…good party,” he shook his head fondly at the memory.

It sounded like some kinky shit to Marinette.

“Oh my God.”

He shrugged, “Why do you think I missed class? That was my worst comedown since last New Year’s.”

“Comedown?”

“You ever try any party drugs, Mari?” he asked, shortening her name smoothly.

“Um, no.”

Adrien shrugged, “Oh. Me either.”

The smile he was wearing made her unsure if he was joking or not. 

“Speaking of party drugs,” said Marinette, surprising herself, “You stood us up.”

Twice as surprising, a guilty grin fell over Adrien’s face, “Ooh, yeah. Something came up…something that I couldn’t cancel.”

“You could’ve texted.”

“I’m bad with communication.”

Marinette rolled her eyes.

“It’s true!” he insisted, “Forgive me?”

“…okay.”

“Good.”

“So…uh, where did you go to school before this?” she asked, eager to keep the conversation going now that she was able to speak.

Adrien’s face hardened slightly, so quickly that she barely noticed it before he replaced his expression with a practiced, easy grin, “Oh, I’ve been around, you know. They can’t keep me in one place for very long.”

She had hit a nerve, obviously, so she backpedaled, “I’m sorry if that’s too personal, I wasn’t even thinking, I…I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous?”

Jesus Christ, Marinette, be a little more obvious, why don’t you? She wanted to facepalm.

“I mean…I don’t…I’m not good with new people,” Marinette amended.

“You’re doing fine,” Adrien grinned. 

“Thanks,” she smiled, genuinely.

They walked in companionable silence until they reached a spot at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, at the top of a short staircase. It was May, too early for summer tourists and too late for spring tourists, so even this landmark was mostly deserted. Marinette liked to sit in that spot herself and sketch. It reminded her of the magic of living in Paris, a kind of mystery and romance that got lost in the daily city bustle.

And much to Marinette’s surprise, Adrien proceeded to sit himself down on the top step, in Marinette’s exact usual spot, sling the backpack he’d carried the whole way off his shoulder, and pat the concrete beside him, eyes peering up at her expectantly. 

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You’re going to help me with homework,” Adrien replied, “That’s why we met up.”

Marinette was perplexed, “But you said we were gonna do something…fun.”

He smiled, “Do you like sunsets? Sunsets are fun.”

Adrien pointed toward the Eiffel Tower, and Marinette looked. He had positioned them perfectly to watch the sun sink behind the metal crossbars of the sturdy architecture, golden rays washing over the rooftops. Marinette glanced back at Adrien. He was staring at the sinking sun, his own golden hair set flaming in oranges and yellows. 

“I like sunsets,” Marinette agreed.

He unlocked his phone, and Marinette would swear up and down to Alya later that night that his lockscreen was some anime character. Then he started taking pictures of the sunset.

Suddenly, Marinette realized something that made her even more scared than anything else she’d learned about him, more than the record of expulsions or daddy issues or insinuations of hard drug use.

_Oh my God he’s a giant fucking nerd._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to end my chapters with the word "fuck" somewhere in there. Sorry, kids.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not so much plot advancement in this chapter. Mostly a lot of cursing.

There was a grand sense of irony to it. 

Nobody with eyes that wide and hair that fluffy could be a real criminal mastermind. He was an unwatched toddler chewing a discarded cigarette butt. He was a declawed purebred cat trying to be a stray because his owner switched food brands. He pretended to be a bad boy but he was…he was…a giant fucking nerd. 

Marinette edged closer to him, “So, uh…literature?”

“Right, right,” Adrien said, putting his phone in his pocket. 

Almost awkwardly, Adrien turned and started digging through his backpack with one hand. He brought out the pack of cigarettes, seemingly without thinking, but glanced up at Marinette and slid them back into the backpack quickly.

“Sorry,” he said, “Secondhand smoke.”

She jumped at the sudden attention. "What?"

“I don’t think you want me smoking near you,” said Adrien wryly.

“Oh…oh, thanks.”

“Yep.”

The silence was almost overwhelming as Marinette pulled her notebook out of her bag and sat expectantly as Adrien wrangled his own supplies.

God, he was pretty. 

“Um…well, okay. This unit is on Gautier,” Marinette said uncertainly.

Adrien sat, pen poised over his notes, green eyes boring into her.

“He wrote _Émaux et Camées_ and a bunch of other poems and things. Our assignment is about his influence on Romanticism. That’s hard, because he isn’t exactly a Romantic writer,” Marinette continued.

He nodded, gaze never leaving her face. His mouth was pulled tight into a frown, and it made Marinette nervous enough that she kept babbling. It seemed like hours passed as she spoke, instead of minutes, and then she finally couldn’t stand his expression anymore.

“Actually, he was a…why…why are you looking at me like that?” 

Adrien, God bless him, actually blushed, “Oh, sorry. You have some hair in your – here –”

He reached over and pushed a wayward strand of hair that Marinette had not noticed in the slightest back behind her ear. His hand lingered just a fraction of a second too long on her cheek, and then he pulled back. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no,” Marinette said, hurriedly, “It’s fine.”

Inwardly, Marinette was thinking something closer to _“more than fine, Jesus Christ, fucking grab me and never let go”._

“I think I got the hang of it,” Adrien said, “It’s starting to get dark, anyway. I have somewhere to be.”

“Are you sure?” said Marinette, “It’s been like fifteen minutes, I can give you more notes and stuff if you want…”

“Yeah,” he smiled that big smile again, “Thanks, Marinette, for taking time to help me. I don’t deserve it, but thanks.”

Marinette laughed, uncomfortable, “Oh, don’t say that! That’s what friends do, right?”

“Friends, huh?” 

“Well…yeah. We’re friends.”

Adrien chuckled, “Thanks, friend.”

And even though that was the least cool thing Marinette had ever heard anyone say, even though she caught one final glimpse of that stupid fucking anime lockscreen before he disappeared into the dusk, Marinette was head over heels by the time she reached home.

\--------------------

Alya took in every detail of the encounter like a champ. All day Sunday was spent hashing and rehashing each word. And when class came on Monday morning, Marinette couldn’t even look Adrien in the eye when he said hello.

“You’re a hopeless case, you realize that, right?” Alya whispered to her, as their teacher came in.

“Oh, sorry that he gazed into my eyes like a goddamn Disney Prince!” Marinette replied.

“Speaking of Disney Princes, Nino is having lunch with us today at the bakery,” Alya said.

Marinette blinked, “…Why?”

“Because he’s fucking cute and your parents make great croissants and the best way to seduce a man is through his stomach!” Alya hissed. 

“Don’t make my parents play wingman for you.”

“Shut up, they love me and they want to see me happy!”

Marinette laughed. Alya looked affronted, even as a smile tweaked up the corners of her mouth, and they both turned their attention back to class.

\--------------------

Sure enough, lunchtime came, and Nino walked with them back to Marinette’s.

Marinette didn’t hang out with Nino very often, and she couldn’t imagine why not. Sure, he carried a bottle of bubble soap everywhere, and his flirting with Alya was unbearably dorky, but he was that kind of undeniable, intrinsic cool that Marinette wished she could be. 

“Did you guys actually go out to that place with Agreste last week?” he asked suddenly.

Alya nodded, “He stood us up, though.”

“You should’ve called me. I was in the area,” Nino shrugged.

“You? Over there?” Alya asked, “Why?”

“I have a regular gig over there.”

Marinette looked up from her sandwich, interested, “Really? Where?”

Nino grinned, “There’s this club that really spoke to me a couple months ago, so I picked up some part time work on their staff.”

“That’s real fucking neato. We’ll have to come see you sometime,” Alya said. 

“We’re having a special event on Friday night,” Nino said, “You’ll have to come check it out.”

Alya pursed her lips, “We have plans on Friday.”

“Your loss,” Nino shrugged, “Restroom in this joint?”

Marinette shook her head, “Just use the one in the apartment. Second door at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Nino was out of earshot, Alya snorted, “Cryptic, right?”

“Just a little,” Marinette agreed, “How could you not know that he works down near Sous-Terre? 

“I didn’t know he had a job, period,” said Alya.

“But you have to know these things! You guys are bed buddies!” Marinette protested.

“Nope.”

“Fuck friends.”

“Marinette!”

“Friends with benefits.”

“Mari, I swear to fucking God I’ll-” 

“Fine, fine.”

Alya grinned, “We should invite him to Sous-Terre.”

“To watch us get our asses handed to us? No thanks,” Marinette said.

Nino’s voice came down the stairwell as he returned, “Who’s handing you your asses?”

“Lit class,” Alya lied swiftly, “Not all of us are nerd encyclopedias, man.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nino said, good-naturedly shoving Alya, “C’mon, class is starting soon.”

\--------------------

“Why is spandex so expensive?” Alya cried, looking at one of the many receipts that littered Marinette’s desk.

“I buy the good shit,” Marinette replied.

“I sure as hell hope so. Damn, you’ll need to go back to your sugar daddy soon.”

“Shut up.”

Marinette had bought all of the things she’d need to make the costumes, and spent most of Chat Noir’s winnings in the process. The exhilaration of having a project to work on was more than enough to justify the expense.

“According to you, we’re gonna win plenty of money ourselves,” said Marinette.

“Damn right,” said Alya, smirking, “I still can’t believe Agreste is a total nerd under all that don’t-give-a-fuck.”

“Oh my God, me neither. What’s up with that?!”

“He’s a fucking weeb, Marinette! And he has such a raging crush on you.”

“Whatever.”

“He does! You’re two for two on hot blonds,” Alya winked.

“Two?”

“Adrien and Chat Noir. You’re developing a type, girl.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hopefully this turns out okay,” Marinette muttered, holding up two sides of fabric that were supposed to be the top of Alya’s costume.

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Alya replied, “We’re gonna be great.”

Marinette grinned, “Well, I’m not doing all of this work myself.”

She grabbed one of the two pairs of boots she’d bought and handed them to Alya, along with a bottle of white paint. 

“What’s this for?” Alya asked, looking down at them.

“I couldn’t find white boots for you. Have fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just like the idea of Chat Noir as Marinette's sugar daddy so much. It's just bizarre enough to make sense.  
> PLEASE feel free to comment, I thrive on the attention.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still no Mari kicking ass in this chapter, sorry guys. I like my slow-build. Also, if yall like Nathanael, this is the chapter for you.  
> I kind of switch around between the English and French names for the characters based on what's easier/more compact/cooler. Like, I prefer Climatika for Aurore, but I prefer Evillustrator for Nath. Just roll with it.

Friday night came much too quickly for Marinette’s taste. One moment, it was Tuesday and she was re-stitching the final seams of her top and praying to whatever Fashion Designer God might be listening in hopes of a sweet merciful accident to kill her before she had to backstitch Alya’s. The next, it was Friday, and Alya was bounding into her room screaming at the top of her lungs.

“LADYBUG! ARE YOU READY?!” 

Marinette’s phone went flying across the room as she jumped in surprise.

“Jesus Christ, Alya, I want my hearing to hold out until the fall, thanks,” Marinette said, “And if my phone is cracked, I’m gonna kill you.”

Alya just grinned, “It is time. My threads, please.”

Marinette unfolded Alya’s costume from the neat pile on her desk. It was made of a light, stretchy spandex blend, with a logo of a wifi signal blazing across the chest, and as Alya put it on, Marinette noted with pride that it fit perfectly. 

“Damn, dude, this is incredible!” Alya said, pulling on the new white boots that she had so painstakingly painted.

“Don’t ‘damn, dude’ me yet. I need to do your mask.”

The thick fabric masks were going to be held in place with a ridiculous amount of spirit gum, and once Marinette had plastered the thing on Alya’s face and let it dry, she had to admit that Alya looked barely recognizable. Maybe there was something to this ‘secret identity’ thing.

Marinette’s own outfit was made of a similarly stretchy blend, and by some miracle she had found a material already printed with large ladybug-like spots and saved herself the trouble of attaching the spots by hand. Putting it on was like slipping into the world’s most comfortable and custom-fitted workout clothes.

“Huh,” Marinette hummed appreciatively, admiring herself in the mirror as Alya stuck the spotted mask on her. 

“You’re totally disguised,” Alya said happily, “Except for one thing…”

Alya turned away for a second, and came back brandishing two elastics. 

“What are those for?”

“You look too ‘Marinette’ with your hair down like that,” Alya said, fingers playing with the ends of Marinette’s loose shoulder-length hair.

“So?”

“Just watch.”

Alya gathered Marinette’s hair into twin pigtails at the nape of her neck, letting her bangs spill across the edges of the mask. And far from looking dorky (like Marinette had expected), they looked practical and…cute.

“There,” Alya said, with some pride, “This is Ladybug.”

“Ladybug,” Marinette echoed, looking at the girl in the mirror. 

She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about being Ladybug.

“Are you ready to kick some ass?” asked Alya, throwing an arm around Marinette’s shoulder.

“No.”

“That’s the spirit!”

\--------------------

“Ladies! Welcome!” 

The same announcer as last time, a young guy in a black mask spattered with blue, stood at the entrance to Sous-Terre, greeting guests. He wore an elaborate yellow-red-and-blue bodysuit costume and a blinding, smirky smile that fit his loud voice and louder personality.

Alya had made a beeline right to the growing queue marked “Fighter Registration”.

Marinette was about to puke. 

Not from the way the announcer’s saccharine grin was aimed at Alya (though that in itself was pretty gag-worthy), but from the realization of what she was doing. They were in a fight club, getting ready to sign themselves up to have the absolute shit beat out of them by strangers. What was she _doing?_.

“You girls signing up for the brawl tonight?” he asked them.

Alya nodded, “You know it.”

“Awesome! See my man Stoneheart to do the paperwork,” he said, jerking a thumb behind him at the stony-masked bouncer behind the registration table, “We do good, clean fights here. The downside? Lots of paperwork.”

“Wow, I had no idea you were running such an upscale establishment,” Alya teased.

The announcer laughed, “Of course. And to further prove it, why don’t you and your friend grab some drinks, on the house. Tell them the Bubbler sent you.”

“A true gentleman,” Alya said, approval obvious.

“Next!” the bouncer called.

Fucking hell, they were next.

“Good luck, um…?” the Bubbler glanced between Alya and Marinette expectantly.

“Lady Wifi,” Alya said, “And Ladybug.”

“That one was obvious,” he smirked, nodding at Marinette’s spotted outfit.

Marinette shrugged.

“Well, ladies, good luck.”

And he strolled away, freeing Marinette from his awkward flirting with Alya but forcing her to face her awful, awful choices.

The paperwork was just as thorough as insinuated. Marinette had to provide everything from her birthdate to her insurance to a goddamn emergency contact. The blatant implication that she would require medical attention after a fight here was not encouraging.

“Is it too late to back out?” she asked Alya weakly.

“I think so.”

“If I faint, will they not let me fight?” 

Alya rolled her eyes, “Probably, but then I’ll kick your ass anyway.”

Well, that was a lose-lose situation.

“Alya, I don’t think I can do this,” Marinette said.

In response, Alya led Marinette over to a corner of the warehouse, farther from the speakers by the bar that were pumping out some EDM track. She placed both hands firmly on Marinette’s shoulders and forced her to meet her eyes.

“You need to lock this shit up, now,” Alya said.

“This is dangerous!” Marinette yelped, “I can’t do this!”

“Hey. Hey. Why do you think we’re doing this?”

“Because you have a death wish and I have a weakness for your stupid plans?”

“No!” Alya shook her lightly, “Because I think we can do this. Like, really. I don’t think you’re going to get hurt. I think we’re going to do some damn skilled fighting and win some cash.”

“What if I do get hurt?”

“Think back to Chat Noir’s fight last time. Those guys were a little battered, but did anything, ANYTHING seriously dangerous happen to them?

“…No.”

Alya nodded, “Because these aren’t to-the-death fucking fights. This is a sport, Mari. We will be fine.”

Marinette bit her lip. Alya was starting to sound dangerously like a person who was right.

The loudspeakers at the bar crackled to life, cutting off Marinette from her rebuttal.

“Okay, anyone signed up for our special Ladies’ Night Fight, please follow Stoneheart backstage to get taped up and prepped!”

“That means us!” said Alya.

And once again, Marinette found herself being dragged across Sous-Terre.

\--------------------

The backstage area of the club was surprisingly nice. There were couches galore, a set of bathrooms, and a couple other tiny rooms that seemed to serve as more private dressing rooms. 

Marinette found herself pressed on one of the couches between Alya and a short, lithe red-haired fighter in a dazzling purple-and-orange outfit, waiting for the bouncers to come around with wrist tape. 

“You guys new?” the fighter asked, turning toward Marinette.

“Yeah,” Marinette said, after a moment’s pause, “I’m…Ladybug. This is Lady Wifi.”

The fighter smiled, “Ah, a couple new ladies for us. I’m Evillustrator.”

“Pleasure,” Alya nodded. 

“Is this your first fight?” 

Marinette grimaced, “Is it that obvious?”

“No offense, but you look like death warmed over.”

“She’s a little nervous,” Alya explained.

“It’s tough to walk into this as the little guy!” Marinette protested, “Figuratively and literally.”

Evillistrator laughed, “Hey, little guys can do pretty powerful shit. My round last weekend, I got a KO in like thirty seconds.”

A bouncer knelt in front of Marinette, wrapping tape in intricate criss-crosses around her wrists. She attempted to memorize the pattern in case she needed it again, but her anxious brain couldn’t handle the quick motion of his hands. Instead, she glanced around him as the fighters talked.

“You fought last week?” Alya interrupted, “And you’re fighting tonight? Why…?”

“Evillustrator isn’t constrained by the gender binary, he fights whenever he damn pleases,” explained another fighter, a tiny girl with pink pigtails and a black and green two-piece outfit. 

“That’s my fight partner, Timebreaker,” Evillustrator added, “We do all the ladies’ nights.”

Alya raised an eyebrow, “Why is her name-”

“Don’t ask.”

“Okay.”

Evillustrator looked back at Marinette, “Seriously, though, Ladybug, if you’re that nervous, I can give you some pointers.”

“That’s…really nice of you.”

He smiled. “Have you ever hit someone as hard as you can?” 

Marinette shook her head.

“The first time you do it? Incredible. It’s a life-changing feeling.”

“Evillustrator’s first fight was one of the coolest things I have ever seen,” said Timebreaker, “I knew on the spot we were gonna be doubles partners.”

“What happened?” asked Alya eagerly.

Evillustrator’s grin darkened. “I was getting absolutely stomped by this one guy. He doesn’t come here much anymore, but I remember. He’s short but built, sturdy. Hard to lose once he’s got you, and for me, he was like twice my weight. He had pinned me to the count of two, and I got away. He came after me, and then it happened.” 

He paused. Timebreaker booed. 

“No dramatic pauses!”

“What happened?!” Alya insisted. 

“He reached out to grab me with one hand, and I took his wrist and yanked him forward. He stumbled, and his face was right at chest level. So I hauled off – all instinct, you know, I had no formal training so it was just instinct – and just sucker-punched him right on the cheekbone. He fell, I curb-stomped him, and I won the match.” Evillustrator looked around proudly. 

“I was there. Coolest day of my life,” Timebreaker said.

“Here,” said Evillustrator, “Come on, Ladybug.”

He stood up, and beckoned for Marinette to do the same. Wrists taped and nerves making her less steady on her feet than ever, she complied.

“Show me your stance,” he said.

Slowly, Marinette slid into one of the Muay Thai starting stances that Alya had shown her. 

“Pretty good,” said Evillustrator, walking around behind her, “You have formal training?”

“Just ballet,” Marinette replied.

“Still. You’ve got the right balance. May I?”

Marinette nodded. He poked at her foot with his own until her ankles were locked in, parallel to each other. Gently, he eased her elbows in flush against her body and twisted her wrists around slightly. 

“Now all your weight is distributed,” he explained, “And your arms are in tight. Your opponent can’t grab your wrist if it’s tight against you. If you keep all your hits coming from your core, instead of flailing around, you won’t break anything. Probably.”

“I dunno…” Marinette wasn’t convinced.

In response, Evillustrator swung at her, an easy open-hand slap but a hit nonetheless. Marinette leaned all her weight onto her back foot, just out of his reach, and caught his hand in one of her own, bracing her other hand against the back of his arm above the elbow.

“See? If you came forward again, and pushed hard, you could break my arm. It works,” he paused, grinning at her, “But please don’t break my arm.”

“Wow,” Marinette said, relaxing out of her stance and letting go of him, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do. We don’t want the new guys to get their asses beat too badly.”

Alya stood up and leaned against Marinette, “Any other tips, my man?”

Evillustrator smirked, “If you want any chance of winning, you better throw the first punch. Make it a good one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY. I HAD TO.  
> Please leave your comments/kudos!! Love you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannot decide if I actually like where this fic is going or not...oh well. You get Mari being a beast in this one, plus some shenanigans with the true OTP, DJWifi. Also, I call Chat Noir a furry. #noregrets

When Bubbler burst into the green room, Marinette almost had a stroke. She had been sparring with Evillustrator until the very last second, desperate for any kind of advantage. The experienced fighters had definitely calmed her nerves a little with their success stories, but the fear of being permanently disfigured was omnipresent.

“Okay, kids, we have eight teams tonight! Means we can do three rounds. Winner of each round moves up. First pairing is Ladybug and Lady Wifi against Climatika and Puppeteer.”  
Bubbler’s smirk was wider than ever as he winked at Alya and Marinette.

“Good luck, ladies.”

In her daze of absolute mortal peril, Marinette didn’t look at her opponents as they rose from the couches and followed her and Alya out from backstage. She didn’t dare look as they paraded through the packed house and climbed into the ring. So when she saw them face-to-face across the makeshift ropes, she was taken aback.

The girls were in complimentary lightning-emblazoned outfits, one white and deep purple and the other black and teal. Their masks were dark, their hair back in pigtails like Marinette’s, and their faces smug. They were a cohesive fighting team down to the last detail.

In short, Marinette was writing her will as Bubbler came on the speakers and started pumping up the crowd.

Alya slipped her hand into Marinette’s and leaned in to whisper, “We got this, girl.”

Marinette squeezed her hand gratefully. She couldn’t even make out what Bubbler was saying over the pounding of her own heartbeat. Something about sexy ladies and making sure everyone bought a lot of drinks, she thought. 

Suddenly, he was right in front of her.

“Okay, when the bell dings, you fight. No hair pulling, no scratching, that shit don’t fly here, we’ll stop the fight if you do. Just clean boxing and wrestling. You pin or KO your opponents, you win. Ready?” he said, words blurring in his haste.

“Ready!” cried Alya.

“Ready,” said Marinette.

And then the bell dinged.

People often compared sudden, complete exhilaration to the rush of skydiving for the first time, or of using strong narcotics. Marinette had never done either of those things, but if the adrenaline rush was anything like this, she just might have had to try them.

Sure, the first five seconds of the fight resulted in Marinette taking a strong right hook to the face, and falling hard against the ropes, her face throbbing with pain. 

Sure, she couldn’t see straight for a second, and when she could, she saw Alya wrestling Puppeteer on the ground and taking more punches than she was landing. Alya did everything full-force, and Marinette had the presence of mind to feel a little guilty that she wasn’t taking nearly as much of a beating as her best friend.

She looked into the audience desperately as Climatika mapped her next punch, and what she saw was like being doused in cold water. 

Evillustrator was in the stands. And next to him was Chat Noir. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, screaming, cheering the same syllables over and over. 

Ladybug. They were yelling her name.

Marinette shook her head. She wasn’t going to stand here and let some bitch-ass meteorologist destroy her in front of all of these people. Not in front of Chat Noir.

So when Climatika took a step forward, Marinette launched herself at her. 

Her first punch was to Climatika’s stomach. Her second, to her jaw as she doubled over. The next few she couldn’t even track.

Adrenaline pounded through Marinette’s body. She was positively quivering (with either rage or excitement, and most likely both) as she planted her left foot behind her opponent and swept her down with one knee digging into her stomach, pinning Climatika to the mat in one quick, fluid motion. 

Seconds passed. And then Bubbler was hauling Marinette up and holding her hand up over her head. Dizzily, she looked over at Alya standing on other side, her hand up, too.

“We have our winners!” Bubbler said, voice resonating over the speakers and echoing in Marinette’s head, “Give it up for newcomers Ladybug and Lady Wifi!”

If the place seemed loud before, it was nothing compared to the crowd roar that followed Marinette as she left the ring with Alya. 

The same bouncer as before let them into one of the private rooms and shut the door behind them. As soon as they were alone, Alya started screaming.

“MARINETTE! WE DID IT!” 

“I KNOW!” Marinette found herself hollering back.

Giggling, Alya grabbed her in a hug. They had done it. They’d lasted their first fight, and they had won.

“We’re going on to the next round,” Alya said, “You think we can do it again?” 

Marinette pulled back from her best friend, holding her by the shoulders, “I think we should do this every day, for the rest of our lives.”

Alya laughed, “Seriously? Seriously?! You tried to wimp out on me like half an hour ago!”

“That was before I knew the carnal pleasure of beating someone’s face in,” Marinette said, mock-seriously.

“Damn, Marinette.”

A knock on the door sent them both giggling again.

“Come in!” called Marinette.

Chat Noir pushed open the door, hands on his hips. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we had two new stars in here tonight?” he asked, smirking.

“We prefer to be a surprise,” Alya said.

“You surprised?” teased Marinette.

Chat nodded, “Very. So, Ladybug…is this your first time here?”

Marinette realized something very interesting in that moment. Chat Noir did not recognize her. Even though she had just been there, and he had given her three hundred euro, and she looked exactly the damn same except for the mask, he didn’t know she was Marinette.

“We’ve visited before, ah, out of character,” she said, gesturing down at her spotted outfit.

“And decided to get in on the action because apparently you’re secretly amazing at this. Well done, my Lady, well done,” Chat replied. 

Alya interjected, “How much time before our next fight?”

Chat grinned, “Enough time to go get some drinks.”

Smooth. Marinette wanted to roll her eyes. 

“Sure,” she said, instead. 

As they walked back out to the bar, Marinette marveled at the sheer number of people in the club. She had no idea underground fighting was such a popular pastime. Certainly, she never expected herself to be here on a Friday night, in a fistfight for fun and profit. It didn’t seem very…Parisian. Or sane.

“Cherry Coke, no ice, and whatever these ladies want, on me,” Chat said to the bartender, an older-looking guy in a knight’s metal mask.

“On Bubbler,” Marinette amended, smirking sidelong at Chat, “He offered us drinks when we came in.”

“My Lady, you wound me,” he said, putting a hand to his forehead dramatically.

“You’ll survive,” Alya grinned, “Two strawberry daiquiris.”

Marinette was stuck on the ‘my lady’ comment. That was the second time he had said it. Christ on a bike, Chat had nicknamed her. 

“Have you two ever done this before?” Chat asked Marinette, as Alya made extremely loud smalltalk with the bartender.

“Fighting? No, absolutely not,” Marinette said.

Chat laughed, “What, you woke up one day and decided you wanted to be an underground fighter? Are you a wizard?”

“No,” Marinette decided on honesty, “We…watched you fight last week, and we just got hooked.”

“Me? I’m flattered, my Lady.”

There he went again with the nicknaming. Marinette was sure she was as bright red as her costume, flustered and just the tiniest bit excited. This Chat Noir was not bad looking by any stretch of the imagination. He was also emanating so much confidence and playfulness that Marinette felt ready to drown in it.

“Hey, Ladybug! Lady Wifi!” 

Alya tapped Marinette on the shoulder, and reluctantly she turned away from Chat to see Bubbler hurrying up to them.

“So um…Timebreaker sort of accidentally turned into Arm-breaker and maaaay have snapped someone’s ulna,” he said, sheepishly.

“Ulna?” Alya whispered to Marinette.

“It’s a bone. In the arm.”

Bubbler scratched at the back of his head guiltily, “So we’ve canceled the other rounds for tonight. No prizes cuz three groups of you got through. I hope that’s okay…”

“Who got hurt?” Chat asked, his voice suddenly much more even and authoritative.

“Miss Fortune,” said Bubbler.

“Dammit. I knew that bad-luck bitch needed to sit out for a couple days. Fucking maniac,” Chat mumbled, “Is she okay?”

“Stoneheart taped her up and is waiting out front for an ambulance.”

“I’m going to go see her. Sorry, Ladybug, we’ll have to catch up later. Duty calls.”

And Chat vanished into the crowd, leaving Bubbler shaking his head after him.

“Jeez, he sure takes all the shit that happens here personally,” Alya commented.

Bubbler looked at her strangely, “Well, he basically owns the joint.”

“What?” asked Marinette, incredulous.

“Yeah, this is his club. You mean he didn’t tell you?” 

Alya snorted, “Of course not! You think we’d take one look at that leather Furry and think he was the boss?”

“He seems like the type who wouldn’t miss the opportunity to brag,” Marinette said. 

“Say what you want, but this club is Chat’s baby,” Bubbler replied, “Everything in here happens because of him.”

“The plot thickens,” said Alya, turning dramatically to look at Marinette.

“Shut up.”

Bubbler snatched what was left of Alya’s daiquiri off the counter and took a long sip. With a nod in their direction, he said something about finding Timebreaker and wandered off.

“That asshole took my drink!” Alya whined.

“He’s flirting with you,” Marinette said absently.

She was too busy staring pensively at the strawberry chunks in her own glass. Chat Noir was not only a heartthrob and a damn good streetfighter, but he was also a savvy businessman running a successful, legal (albeit strange) fight club. How did that work?

Alya nudged Marinette, “Hey, do you think Bubbler would hook up with me if I asked?”

“Why would you even ask me that?”

“He’s sexy!”

“What about Nino?” Marinette hissed, voice low.

“We’re not exclusive, he’ll live.” 

“You’re a bad person.”

“No, Mari, I am an opportunist. There’s a difference.”

“That’s what bad people say to make themselves feel better about being bad people,” Marinette said.

Alya winked. “You’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have a lot of feelings about these stupid kids, okay? Please leave me some comments, they keep me alive and make me feel less like I'm writing this fic just to satisfy my own weird cravings. Love you guys!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys keep leaving me sweet comments and that makes me want to update really quickly. Which is stupid of me, really, because the more I post the sooner this will be over. That said, I think this fic will end up closer to 20-25 chapters, what with everything I'm planning. Hope you guys are okay with that!  
> This chapter involves questionable insults to both pop music and jogger sweatpants. Enjoy!

Marinette didn’t see Chat Noir again that night. Which was disappointing, because she had just realized exactly how much of a giant motherfucking crush she had on him, and exactly how much confidence the Ladybug costume gave her to pursue that crush. Though she would never admit it, she was about as ready to try to hook up with Chat as Alya was with Bubbler. 

Luckily, Alya didn’t see Bubbler again, either, so the status remained quo.

Even more luckily, Marinette was not visibly bruised or disfigured from that first fight. The last thing in the world she wanted was to have to explain to her mother why she was missing her two front teeth or something. But standing in front of her full-length mirror on Saturday morning, Marinette could see nothing worse for the wear.

Alya was lying flat on Marinette’s floor, fiddling with her phone as she asked, “Hey?”

“What?” Marinette glanced down at her.

“You told me that the deadline for a bunch of those design contests was this week.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you entered anything?”

“Nah.”

“Doesn’t that worry you a little bit?”

“…WELL IT DOES NOW.”

Marinette dropped to the floor beside Alya.

“My life is over,” she moaned, “I’ve been too busy joining a fight club with you to actually worry about my future and design some damn clothes!”

“Marinette-”

“I’m going to live under a bridge in a pile of fabric scraps!”

“But-”

“Kids will tell stories about how I lost everything through my violent youth. It’ll be like a Maroon 5 music video!”

“I don’t-”

“ALYA, I DON’T WANT TO JOIN MAROON 5 I’M NOT EVEN WHITE I-”

“MARINETTE.”

Marinette looked up at Alya, who had at some point moved to perch herself on the ottoman.

“What?”

Alya pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “First of all, nobody’s making you join Maroon 5. Second of all, you literally just designed two amazing outfits.”

“Nuh uh,” Marinette whined.

“Yuh huh.” 

And Marinette was swamped in a downpour of fabric that Alya had oh-so-kindly dumped on her face as a form of reply. When she dug herself out, she found that she was holding hers and Alya’s fight club costumes. 

“This?” Marinette said, “This was just for fun.”

“Mari, I roundhouse-kicked a girl in this and it felt like a spandexy dream.”

“You roundhouse-kicked that girl?”

“She deserved it,” Alya said decisively, “But seriously. These are damn good. You made them yourself, by hand, and they’re better than any other workout clothes I own. Just submit these.”

“We need to wear these,” Marinette replied, “I can’t just go mailing them to a dozen fashion companies.”

“Did you even read the submission guidelines?” 

Marinette shrugged, “I don’t remember, Alya, I was too busy stitching a wi-fi signal on the front of your goddamn shirt!”

“Calm down, fuck. All of the companies want design sketches and photos of potential finished product. Like a portfolio. You have that.”

“I…guess I do.”

Alya sighed, “YES. You do.”

“Why did you memorize that?” Marinette asked. 

“Because my best friend is dumb as fuck and loves to self-sabotage. I’m like your goddamn personal assistant, Mari.” 

“And I appreciate it.”

“Then you’d better start paying me, because this is a full-time job.” 

Marinette shrugged, “I’ll save your ass in our next fight, how about that?” 

“Shut up.”

\--------------------

Come Tuesday, Marinette had edited, copied, and packaged up so many sets of her designs that she was starting to hate ladybugs. At Alya’s insistence, she had only sent out the design for her own Ladybug outfit. Alya claimed it was neater and much better done. Marinette suspected that Alya just wanted no part of the mess that was sure to be Marinette’s professional career. 

The designs themselves limited what lines Marinette could actually approach. They had removed the mask and marketed the pieces as exercise gear, also at Alya’s insistence, and some designers were just not willing to accept workout gear as a serious fashion choice. 

Tuesday was slightly marred, however, because it was the date of Marinette’s next study session with Adrien Agreste.

She was sitting in the park by her house, flicking through the delivery confirmations for all of her design packages and worrying, when Adrien himself showed up.

“Hey, Marinette.”

His voice made her look up automatically.

“Hey Adrie-ahhh…”

For a fashion designer, Marinette did not usually worry herself much with what other people were wearing. Style was personal, and it wasn’t her place to criticize. Adrien just happened to have a fashion taste that liked to reach out and punch her in the gut.

He was wearing a pair of black joggers, those ridiculous semi-formal sweatpants marketed at people who can’t stop wearing skinny jeans long enough to be comfortable. The idiotic pants were paired with a plain black t-shirt and a green flannel shirt tied around his waist. 

In short, he looked like some Hot Topic ex-manager who had gotten a job at BuzzFeed. And he looked damn good.

“The name’s Adrien,” he teased.

“I know,” Marinette replied, cursing herself for being so easily enchanted.

He smirked, “See something you like?”

‘He likes anime, Marinette, he likes anime,’ Marinette whispered to herself, ‘He’s a fucking weeb and you can handle this.’

Out loud, Marinette said, “That’s just a really expensive shirt.”

And it was. The shirt had a small letter G embroidered near the bottom hem, betraying that it was a two-hundred euro Gabriel Agreste brand design. Not that Marinette knew anything about Adrien’s father’s brand. No, of course not.

“I didn’t notice,” said Adrien, tugging on the shirt, “There’s tons of these at home.”

‘Oh, poor suffering rich kid, showered in his father’s brand-name merchandise. How do you stand it?’ Marinette though, scathingly.

“Jeez, Mari, tell me how you really feel,” Adrien chuckled.

Oh. Oh no. She had said that out loud.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, “There’s a reason I stay away from my old man, and out-the-ass-expensive t-shirts are part of it.”

“Okay,” said Marinette dumbly.

Adrien’s green eyes lit up suddenly, “Good news, though.”

“Mm?”

“I aced my essay.”

Marinette felt her heart flip with joy at the pride in his words.

“Good!”

He sat down next to her, “I searched for information on non-Romance writers, and that really helped. The section in our book on Gautier is about Romanticism, though, so I would’ve totally fucked it up. I never would’ve known without you.”

“It’s really no big deal,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.

“It’s an A in lit class. It’s enough.”

What on Earth had happened in this boy’s childhood that he could gush about his good grade on a lit essay like it was his crowning achievement?

But all Marinette said was, “I’m glad you’re happy with it.”

“This means I’m all caught up with the class,” Adrien said.

“I guess it does.”

“We don’t have to be study buddies anymore.”

“I guess not.”

“Unless…you still want to be.”

Marinette, queen of jamming her own foot in her mouth when she talked to cute boys, replied with simply a very loud, “No!”

“Well…we don’t have to,” said Adrien, looking a little put out.

“NO! I mean, I don’t want to make you keep hanging out with me!” she said hurriedly, “You probably have other things to do, I mean, I’m not really into-”

“Vandalism and going to ragers?” Adrien quipped.

She shut her mouth hard. Oh, Jesus, here he went.

“I know what everyone thinks of me. They’re not wrong. So I understand if you…do you not want to hang out with me?” he asked, voice going uncharacteristically soft.

“That’s not…no!” Marinette sputtered.

“Because you don’t have to. I know Alya and Nino don’t like me very much.”

“That’s not it at all-”

Adrien looked embarrassed. “I was just excited about maybe making some new friends at school…I’m about to graduate from school forever and I realized, I haven’t spent more than a couple months at any school ever. I want this to be the last one.”

Marinette let the big, dopey smile she always wanted to let loose around Adrien spread across her face.

“We can be friends.”

He smiled back. 

“Okay.”

“This hasn’t been much of a study session,” Marinette said dourly.

“I guess not,” Adrien agreed.

“Well…we can go grab a snack at the bakery if you want, since you came all the way over,” she suggested.

“That sounds nice.”

The walk to the bakery was mercifully short enough that Marinette didn’t have to think of any smalltalk. And once they were inside, Marinette’s mom took over the situation in a split second.

“Hi, honey! Who’s this?” 

Sabine Cheng was a short, petite woman with twinkly grey eyes, which were currently embarrassing Marinette to her very core with the way they had fixated on Adrien. Marinette knew what her mother was thinking, and it had to do with marriage and grandchildren and other things that Marinette prayed her mother would have the good sense not to mention until after Adrien went home.

“I’m Adrien Agreste,” he said, holding out a hand for her to shake.

But Sabine leaned right in and gave him a kiss on each cheek. 

“You’re Adrien! Oh, Marinette talks a lot about you!” 

“Does she?” Adrien asked, smirking again.

“Of course!”

“Mom!” Marinette protested.

Sabine smiled, “Alright, alright. Adrien, come with me and pick out something to eat, you look starved. So skinny – WHAT is your family thinking, honestly, you’re a growing boy. Marinette, there’s some mail for you on the counter.”

As her mom whisked Adrien into the kitchen, Marinette went to collect her mail. She didn’t usually get mail. The only thing she could be expecting was a response from one of the fashion companies, maybe, but she didn’t think that any of her packages could possibly have been delivered and opened and a decision made so soon. But the very top envelope was addressed in a rolling script that she didn’t recognize, with no return address.

Impatiently, she tore open the envelope and pulled out a sheet of thick cream-colored paper. 

_Ms. Marinette Dupain-Cheng_ , it said at the top, _Congratulations_.

A few lines later, Marinette’s knees threatened to give out beneath her. 

She was being offered an internship at Agreste Fashion, starting immediately. She would be working under Gabriel Agreste, the most competitive and well-respected fashion designer in Paris. 

And Adrien Agreste, she decided on the spot, must never, never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sabine Cheng is a goddess among women and Adrien's a fucking nerd. That is all.  
> PLEASE leave me some good ol' comments, I love reading what you guys think, and I love all of you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I had totally forgotten what even happens in this chapter until I went to post it. Whoops. Turns out there's gratuitous Marvel references and kissing. Enjoy!

Thankfully, Adrien had taken his leave from the bakery soon after devouring an inhuman amount of croissants. The winking and nudging and endless stream of “what a nice boy!” from her parents was even more infuriating, though, since she was desperate for some time alone with the letter from Agreste Fashion.

How had this happened?

An internship from one of the most prestigious fashion lines in Paris was one thing, but an internship from a fashion line headed by the father of a boy who may or may not be the most exquisite nerd ever to exist was quite another.

Marinette didn’t even understand how they had gotten back to her so fast. Unless Adrien had done something to speed along her entry…but no, that was ridiculous. He wouldn’t do that. 

They weren’t friends, yet, not really. They sure as hell weren’t dating. He had no reason to help her with something as monumental as an internship with a top company. On top of that, Adrien didn’t even speak to his dad, as far as Marinette could tell. 

Whatever. Weird as everything was, it could wait until the next day.

Unfortunately, the next day was Wednesday. And Marinette hated Wednesdays. 

This particular Wednesday’s awfulness took the form of Alya and Nino pressed up against the wall next to the door to their homeroom class, kissing and groping with the kind of intensity usually reserved for Game of Thrones. Or CPR.

“Aw, man, I do not need to see this!”

At the sound of Marinette’s voice, Alya came up for air, smirking.

“Move along, kid,” Alya said, waving the hand that wasn’t twisted in Nino’s shirt dismissively.

So Marinette did. She stalked into the classroom, shaking her head. What crime did she commit in a past life to get Alya as a best friend? The girl would murder someone in cold blood with a spork for Marinette, but she was also-

“Furiously making out in the hallway, huh? Is that a thing?” Adrien, sitting at his desk already, asked Marinette laughingly.

“Do you want it to be?” Marinette thought.

Out loud she said, “For those two, it apparently is.”

“Nino must be cooler than we give him credit for,” said Adrien.

“Alya just has weird taste and a libido that scares me,” Marinette replied.

Adrien laughed, “Fair enough.”

Two weeks. Marinette had officially known Adrien for two weeks. It seemed like ages longer. Probably because she spent every possible second of class time with her eyes glued to him. 

“Are they even dating?” asked Adrien, turning around to lean on Marinette’s desk.

“Not as far as I know.”

“Then they’re just-”

“Yep.”

“How long has-”

“Don’t ask.”

Alya and Nino chose that moment to walk in, faces as calm and unbothered as if they had never sinned in their lives. 

“Well, well, look who’s flirting,” said Alya, sliding into her seat.

Marinette sputtered, “You literally just had your hands down Nino’s-”

But Marinette’s phone started buzzing insistently where it lay near Adrien’s elbow. He looked down at the number flashing across the screen with something akin to confusion, and, a bit confused herself, Marinette picked up the offending device and answered. 

“Hello?”

“Is this Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” a low, serious woman’s voice came through flatly.

“Yes…”

The woman sighed, just audibly, “My name is Nathalie, I’m a representative for Agreste Fashion. Do you have a moment?”

“Yes!” Marinette yelped, tearing for the door and leaving her friends staring after her.

Nathalie spoke again, “I’m just checking up on your status for the internship with us. Have you decided if you’re going to accept the offer?”

“Um…” Marinette swallowed, “I haven’t received any other letters from other companies, so I don’t know if…”

“If it affects your decision, Mr. Agreste was very impressed with your designs. He asked for you personally.”

Marinette gasped, and then winced, hoping Nathalie didn’t hear her shock over the tinny phone reception. Embarrassingly, that made all the difference in the world. Gabriel Agreste wanted her, personally?

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng, do you think you are going to accept the internship? Mr. Agreste is not a patient man, and he would appreciate a response sooner rather than later.”

“…Yes. I’ll…I’m going to do it, yes,” said Marinette, slowly.

“Excellent. I’ll be emailing your acceptance letter and orientation itinerary this afternoon. Good day.”

And Nathalie hung up, leaving Marinette with her forehead pressed to the wall in distress. Then she realized that her face was touching the patch of wall that Alya and Nino had desecrated, so she leapt back about a foot and started pacing. 

She was going to work at Agreste Fashion. She had a job all lined up once she left school, and it was in fashion. And through some miracle, Gabriel Agreste himself saw her stupid fucking ladybug leggings and decided they were worth something.

Marinette had calmed herself down sufficiently to go back into the classroom. She walked into the middle of a heated discussion, she thought, because Alya was kind of screaming bloody murder at an indignant-looking Nino and a laughing Adrien.

“Who called?” asked Alya, pausing her tirade.

“Agr-ahhh, no one,” Marinette said quickly, eyes flicking over the member of the Agreste family who was currently sitting right in front of her.

Adrien was looking at her, brow furrowed, “I thought…”

“Hm?”

“Nevermind,” he shook his head.

“Okay.”

Alya rolled her eyes, “As I was saying, Jennifer Lopez could be a hundred and five and I would still wanna fuck her.”

“She’ll be all wrinkly,” Nino said.

“With her skincare routine? Not likely.”

Adrien smirked, “Christ, Alya, I didn’t know you swung that way.”

“Are you kidding me?” Marinette laughed.

“Alya has the most raging case of bisexual I have ever seen, and I’ve seen Captain America: The Winter Soldier,” said Nino.

Alya nodded, “That’s true.”

“Dude, you just outed your own girlfriend,” Adrien said. 

“Alya’s out to most of the nation of France, it really isn’t a big deal,” Marinette replied, though on the inside she could feel a little pit of warmth growing at Adrien’s conscientiousness. 

“It’s true, but thanks for your concern. Adrien Agreste, the one true ally,” Alya teased, “The rest of you need to get on his level.” 

\--------------------

“I need a drink. Or therapy. Probably both,” Marinette whined.

She and Alya had parked themselves on a bench in the park next to Marinette’s house. The whole story about Agreste Fashion didn’t take long to explain, but as any true adult would, Marinette had had a tiny bit of a meltdown halfway through. She was lying across the bench with her head in Alya’s lap, so that her best friend could pet her hair and calm her down.

“Oh, stop, you’re fine,” Alya replied.

“I just blindly agreed to work for Agreste Fashion because someone there had a creative _stroke_ and showed my designs to Gabriel Agreste.”

“That’s a good thing, girl!”

Marinette covered her face with her hands, voice muffled, “No it’s not!”

“Why?”

“Because of Adrien!” Marinette cried, “Because my design is accidentally becoming my fight club signature. What if Adrien finds out and tells his dad not to work with me because I’m crazy and beat people up for fun on the weekends? What if Chat Noir or someone from the club sees the design somewhere and finds out who I am? I’ll die of shame!”

Alya laughed, “You won’t die.”

“I might!”

“I don’t think so.”

“How do you know?”

“Mari, baby,” Alya said, “Unless Gabriel Agreste is a regular at Sous-Terre, there is no way he would recognize your costume. And if people at the club find out, we just work past it. It will be okay.”

Marinette groaned. “Can we please just go out somewhere and forget about this? I wanna get tipsy and dance like a moron.”

“Of course. I know just the place,” said Alya, stroking Marinette’s hair.

“Okay,” Marinette sat up, “Let’s go.”

“We have to stop at your place first,” Alya replied.

“Why?”

Alya grinned, “For our costumes, of course.”

\--------------------

“Explain to me again how going to Sous-Terre is going to help me forget about my trainwreck life?” Marinette asked. 

“You need some relaaaaaaxing time.”

“Why can’t we go in our regular clothes?”

“None of our friends there will know it’s us if we’re not in costume.”

“Alya! C’mon! Why do we have to go there? Sous-Terre is part of my problem.”

Alya grinned, the sides of her mask crinkling, “Marinette is having a shit day. Ladybug is going to have a couple drinks and hang out with her underground friends.”

“…Damn,” Marinette said, “Okay. Wow. That…yeah.”

And besides the whole double life thing it presented, differentiating between the two personas did help a little. Marinette was a nervous wreck with a crush on the son of her new employer. Ladybug was an underground fighter with a win under her belt and a veritable clan of other masked crusaders by her side. Maybe some of that strength she usually reserved for Ladybug would bleed into her daily life, if she indulged a little. 

“So relax,” Alya said. 

“Okay.”

They were walking to Sous-Terre, like they always did. It was still early in the evening, the sun bright in the sky. It was a weird feeling, being in costume on the street in full daylight for any reason other than a comic book convention. Marinette was a little uncomfortable. Lucky (unlucky?) for her, a car pulled up next to them and slowed to a crawl.

“Just keep walking,” Alya whispered from behind gritted teeth. 

Marinette understood. Being followed by creeps was nothing new to the two girls, but it never got any easier. 

But the voice that called out from the car was familiar, and distinctively not the voice of a creeping man. 

“Lady Wifi! Ladybug! Wassup, girl?” 

Marinette stopped, turning back to the shiny black Renault sedan. Pink pigtails and a green mask were leaning out the window. 

“Timebreaker,” Marinette said, “Hi.”

“Headed to the club? I’ll give you a lift,” said Timebreaker, jerking her thumb at the backseat.

“Hell yeah,” Alya said, opening the door and climbing inside with no preamble.

Marinette followed. She wasn’t surprised to see Evillustrator, also in full costume, grinning at her from the passenger’s seat. 

“You two are turning into quite the regular customers,” he said. 

“Little Miss Ladybug needed a pick-me-up, and I figured there was nowhere better,” Alya replied.

Evillustrator chuckled, “You’d be right. Plus, I bet Chat Noir will be happy to see you.”

“Me?” Marinette asked, surprised. 

“He hasn’t shut up about ‘that miraculous Ladybug’ since last week,” he said, “He’ll probably piss himself when he sees you.”

“Dude, gross,” said Timebreaker, scrunching up her nose in the rearview mirror.

“The stupid cat falls hard,” replied Evillustrator, “Our lovely Ladybug is just the cherry on top of his lovestruck little cake.”

Alya sat up straighter, smirking, “Speaking of falling hard, Timebreaker, how’s that girl you fucked up?”

She laughed from the driver’s seat, “Aw, she’s fine. It was a clean break. I know what I’m doing.”

“Mind giving your girl some of those secrets?” Alya asked.

Marinette smiled. Alya was nothing if not an insatiable flirt. And apparently, the other insatiable flirt she knew was secretly a bit of an obsessive romantic. Chat Noir was talking about her to the club patrons, a lot. Huh.

The other occupants of the car chattered on while Marinette stared out the window. There was an interesting EDM song on the radio that made her want to play a game she had always played as a kid and pretend she was in a dramatic music video, all dressed up in a strange car with friends-who-were-actually-strangers. 

It was surprising how nice it was to have the ability to make friends as someone besides Marinette. She liked herself, that wasn’t a question, but the mask was anonymity. It was freedom. The chance to be someone different for a little while, with no preconceived notions about who she should be, and no consequences to her real life as long as she was careful. 

“Aaaand, we’re here,” announced Timebreaker.

They were in a parking lot that was, surprisingly, full of cars. It was also somewhere Marinette had never been before.

“We’re behind the club,” Evillustrator said, seemingly reading Marinette’s mind.

“It is jam-packed, fuck!” Timebreaker exclaimed, locking her car door as the lot of them piled out and walked toward the club.

Alya grinned at Marinette, “Is it always this busy on weeknights?”

“It’s always busy,” Evillustrator replied, “Always. I have no idea how but there is no such thing as a slow night at Sous-Terre.”

They went in a back door that deposited them right next to the ring. Inside the ropes, Stoneheart the bouncer was sparring with a short girl in a bright purple costume and rainbow dreadlocks and losing terribly. Evillustrator, loyal to the plan, led the group straight to the bar.

“Hey, kids, how’s it going?” the bartender, a different one from the last time, grinned.

He was a tall, skinny guy in an intricate golden Egyptian mask and matching outfit. Timebreaker hopped up on a barstool and reached over the counter, slugging him on the arm.

“Not bad, bro, how’s business?” she asked.

“Same old. Some middle-school brats came in for vodka. Vodka!” he shook his head, “Wine, I understand, but hard alcohol is a different beast! Chat would have my head.”

“Tough.”

The bartender shrugged, “Hey, what do you expect? What’ll it be, kids?”

“Red wine and Coke for all of us,” Evillustrator interjected.

“That sounds awful,” Alya said.

“It’s Spanish. It’s really good,” the bartender replied, “Coming right up.”

Timebreaker smirked at Marinett and Alya, “This is my brother, Pharaoh.”

“Your real-life brother?” asked Alya.

“Yep.”

“And you both hang here?”

“We have an understanding,” Timebreaker said, smiling even bigger, “He stays out of my way and I don’t tell Dad that he dropped out of grad school.” 

“Anyone ever told you you’re a ruthless bitch?” Alya asked, not without admiration.

“At least twice a week. But thanks for reminding me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? COMMENTS?! (plz leave comments. i love you guys.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to find a groove and update like once or twice a week on set days, but I just get overexcited and post chapters as soon as they're done. Oops.  
> There are more gratuitous Marvel references and even more kissing in this one. Hope you dig!
> 
> UPDATE: I'm stupid and I had cut-and-pasted in a scene and accidentally made it seem like an identity reveal was happening. Thanks to my very confused lovely commenters, I have fixed it.

The drinks came sliding down the bar, and Alya grabbed hers without hesitation and downed it. But Marinette had other matters on her mind.

“Is Chat here?” she asked Pharaoh, voice low so her friends wouldn’t hear.

“Of course, yeah,” he replied, “Why, you need him?” 

“Just wondering,” Marinette said, almost too quickly.

Pharaoh caught her eye, “Uh huh. Suuuuure. Just wondering.”

Marinette frowned, “I know what you’re insinuating, and you’re wrong.”

“So you _don’t_ know that our boss is totally infatuated with you, and you’re _not_ super interested in getting to know him better?” 

“He’s not quite my type.”

“You say that now, but our Chat Noir can be a real gentleman if he wants to be. You’ll see,” said Pharaoh fondly.

He winked at her, and moved down the bar to take more orders. Marinette turned back to her friends, but the group had shrunk.

Timebreaker and Evillustrator had wandered over to a small circular table that was crammed with chairs. One of the fighters from last week’s event was with them, the purple-and-black-themed Climatika, plus two other girls in costume who were holding hands.

Alya nudged her, “Holy shit, I found the queer table. I gotta – I’m gonna go say hi.” 

She blew Marinette a kiss, and walked over that way, leaving Marinette at the bar by herself. 

At least the red wine and Coke wasn’t bad. Whoever had decided that cola and wine went together was a freak of nature – and a freaking genius. Marinette sipped on hers and watched Pharaoh flirt with some patrons down the counter. The club was busy but peaceful, the bustling noise satisfyingly soft and ambient. Maybe Alya was onto something. Maybe Sous-Terre, for all of its strangeness, could be Marinette’s happy place.

Or, she thought that until a hand on her shoulder made her choke on her drink in surprise.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” said Chat Noir sheepishly, as Marinette coughed. 

“No, it’s my bad,” she wheezed.

Chat helped her down from her barstool, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Marinette blushed.

“Good,” Chat smiled, “Nice to see you again, m’Ladybug.”

“Same to you, kitty,” Marinette replied, the nickname rolling off her tongue and surprising her again.

He twirled his leathery tail between his fingers, “What brings you back here tonight?”

“I’ve had a really shitty day,” Marinette admitted, “I needed a drink and some time with friends.”

Chat leaned against the bar, “Well, I’ve got time.”

Marinette laughed, “Oh, I’m sure you have some super-secret club business to take care of, right? No time for a poor ladybug and her troubles.”

“There’s always time for that. Spill.”

“Well…long story short, I was offered my dream job, but I think I got it for the wrong reasons. I kind of know the son of the owner, and…I don’t want to get ahead because some boy likes me. That’s nothing compared to getting hired for my skill,” Marinette frowned. 

“He probably thought he was helping,” Chat said.

“Probably, and that’s really nice of him,” Marinette agreed, “I’m not above a helping hand. I just don’t want to be the girl who gets places because the men in charge think she’s pretty, or whatever. I’m skilled. I’m talented, even! Hire me because I’m good at what I do.”

“Amen to that,” said Chat, raising his hand in an invisible toast. 

Marinette laughed in spite of herself. 

“There you go, you’re smiling,” he pointed at her face.

“Damnit, I was doing my best not to,” she teased.

Chat laughed, too, “But it’s nice to see you happy.”

In perfect sync with the mood, the music in the club picked up. A high-energy dance song that Marinette thought she recognized was blasting over the speakers, and she couldn’t help but sway a little. 

“You wanna dance?” asked Chat.

Marinette blanched, “Oh, I don’t dance with other people.”

“You did ballet!”

“This is not music for ballet!” 

Chat grabbed her hand and started gently pulling her toward the dance floor, “Pleeeeease?” 

Marinette took a second to seriously consider it. Chat was cute, and definitely not some random clubber who would turn ‘dancing’ into ‘let’s see how far up your shirt my hands can go until you punch me in the face’. Plus, the combined power of Alya and Timebreaker would be more than enough to save her if need be. 

“Okay,” she relented. 

And Chat whirled her across the floor to the middle of the club, where a few other groups were already dancing. 

“I thought this was a fight club,” Marinette commented as she fought to keep up with Chat’s effortless, more-than-a-little-breakdancey moves.

“People like to dance. I like to dance,” he replied. 

He reeled her in closer, one hand on her hip. His eyes were closed, focusing more on the bass that filled the room than on the world in front of him, so Marinette took the opportunity to stare at him just a little bit. 

His mask was delicately crafted leather, his ears the same material, and they made his features seem more catlike than humanly possible. The wild blond waves of his hair were the kind of naturally messy that sea salt spray and mousse just couldn’t do. And when he opened his eyes, that striking bright green was impossible to ignore. 

“See something you like?” Chat purred, tilting his head down, his lips just barely brushing her cheek. 

Something inside Marinette came undone as she saw herself reflected in those green eyes. She wasn’t clumsy, shy Marinette. Not tonight. She was Ladybug. Courage flooded through her like a dam had burst. 

“Chat?” 

“Yes?”

“Can I kiss you?”

The smirk that curled across his face was equal parts prideful and quietly flattered. 

“My Lady, I thought you would never ask.”

And before the incredible confidence that came with being Ladybug faded away, Marinette took his face in her hands, thumbs resting on the smoothness of his mask, and kissed him. 

It was only one long, slow, chaste kiss, but Marinette could feel the electricity in the air as they pulled apart. She saw herself in his eyes again, all wide blue irises and pink cheeks.

“I’m going to kiss you again, if that’s okay,” whispered Chat.

Marinette nodded. 

She didn’t expect him to kiss her so much, so hungrily or so sweetly. She didn’t think he would even want to. But there he stood, blunt-clawed gloves snaking through her hair and dipping to hold her around the waist. 

The song ended with a long crescendo, and Marinette found herself leaning forehead to forehead with Chat Noir. He was smiling at her with more adoration than she could ever remember being aimed her way. 

“Well, damn, I was gonna tell you that it’s almost time to go on, but you seem pretty busy.” 

Bubbler was standing a few feet away, hand on his hip and his eyebrow quirked. 

“Sorry, man,” said Chat, disentangling himself from Marinette but keeping on hand on the small of her back.

“No, no, finish up. I can wait,” said Bubbler, waving them on. 

“Shut up,” Chat laughed.

“Forreal though, curtain call in five,” he said, and pointed two finger-guns at them as he left. 

“Sorry about him,” Chat said, looking down at Marinette embarrassedly, “He’s a pain in the ass but he’s my best friend.”

Marinette smiled, “Nah, he’s great. If A- if Lady Wifi had seen us, we’d be praying for death.” 

Chat looked around the room, “She’s over with Evillustrator. They ordered a big tub of jungle juice, they didn’t notice a thing.”

“I’ll let you go, kitty,” Marinette said, smiling, “You have work stuff to do.”

“Okay,” agreed Chat.

He leaned down and kissed her nose where it peeked from under her mask.

“See you later, my Lady.”

Marinette waved her fingers after him, and walked calmly over to Alya as though she hadn’t just been kissing a smoking hot blond in a catsuit. 

“Girl!” Alya said, “Thank God. These idiots are wasted.” 

“Hey,” said Evillustrator, linking an arm through Alya’s, “Hey. I don’t get wasted. I have fun.” 

“See?”

“I do see,” Marinette said, “You gonna be okay going home later?”

“Do I look like I got jungle-juiced? I haven’t touched this shit,” she replied. 

Bubbler strolled up to them, winking at Alya as he came. Marinette was starting to realize why he was the host of the joint. He was everywhere at once, everyone’s best friend. The man was almost as charismatic as Chat Noir, and that was saying something. 

“Hey babe,” he said to Alya, and turned to the rest of the table, “Guys.”

“Full house,” Alya said, nodding at the packed tables around them.

“Means I’m getting paid,” Bubbler grinned. 

“What’s tonight’s fight?”

“Just whoever signed up.”

“Is Stoneheart actually going for it?”

“Maybe,” Bubbler shrugged, looking sidelong at Marinette, “Getting over that star treatment yet, Ladybug?”

“Shut up,” Marinette hissed.

But Alya was already interested, “Star treatment, huh?”

“Dude, she was making the fuck out with Chat Noir on the dancefloor,” Bubbler said, the glint in his eyes betraying the mischief he knew he was making. 

“Really?” Alya pursed her lips, “Details. Now.”

“Hey!” Marinette protested.

“Oh, come on. Is Black Panther any good?” 

“You did not just compare my dumbass boss to T’Challa, king of Wakanda, prince of my heart,” Bubbler said, putting a hand across his chest. 

“Shut it, Bubbles.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “We can talk about this later.”

“Like hell we can! Tell me every detail, now!”

“It’s not your business.”

“I’m practically your wife, girl,” Alya said.

“Okay, then, as my wife, respect my privacy!”

“You can’t go kissing strange boys in catsuits if we’re married!”

“You’ve never had a monogamous relationship in your life!”

They were shouting, play-fighting, matching annoying smiles on their faces. Evillstrator stumbled up and wrapped his arm around Marinette.

“You’re both sluts. Now let it go,” he said.

Alya blinked, and started howling with laughter. 

“Can we keep him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, all references to bi!Alya are full of nothing but love. Just so you know.  
> Comments??? Concerns???


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey babies! I've missed you. How's everyone doing?  
> This chapter has a big ol' time jump in it. I make all of this shit up as I go along (everyone does, I guess...but me especially) and I ended up writing everything literally just to make myself happy. No reason for it besides that.  
> I usually listen to Panic! at the Disco when I write this fic, for obvious reasons, but this chapter's official soundtrack is the song Stay Here Forever by my good friend Nytrix. He's a DJ. My life is a bad sitcom.  
> Enough outta me, enjoy!

Marinette read in a magazine once that American schools had big fancy graduation ceremonies at the end of high school and university. Her school, like the rest of the schools in France, didn’t have that. On the last day of classes, they all received their diploma, and checked listings to see who had passed their baccalaureates, and took pictures together. 

The last few weeks of school marked a strange transformation in all of Marinette’s friends. Alya had been accepted to a university to study journalism. Nino was working full-time at whatever secretive job he had, and he was going to study music. Marinette had started her internship at Agreste Fashion, though only Alya and her parents knew it, and her supervisor was arranging for her to receive university credits at ESMOD Paris for her work. 

Matinette and Alya were both working all the way across Paris from their home neighborhood, ironically, closer to Sous-Terre. They had been apartment –hunting for the last month, with no luck. That was the student life, Marinette guessed. All effort, limited success.

Nobody knew what Adrien was doing. But that wasn’t for lack of asking. 

He inexplicably cooled down as Alya and Nino started letting him into the friend group. He hadn’t talked about a party or a strain of cocaine in weeks. And Marinette still couldn’t say more than three words in a row to him without blushing.

But that was okay. Marinette and Alya were undefeated in the women’s fights at Sous-Terre. They met up with Bubbler and Chat Noir and all the rest a few times a week just for drinks and a good conversation. There was an odd sort of comradery at the club. Nobody knew anyone else’s identity (besides Timebreaker and Pharaoh, who were an oddity regardless), but they built friendships that could and did survive a literal fistfight on a regular basis. 

As Marinette’s mother bid them goodbye and demanded that they go have a (safe!) good time to celebrate their graduation, Nino slung one arm around Marinette and one around Alya.

“Okay, what shenanigans we getting into tonight?” 

Marinette shrugged, “I have work tomorrow.”

“So do you,” Alya said to Nino.

“So do I,” added Adrien absently.

“You don’t need a job,” Nino said, “You’re rolling in Agreste cash.”

Adrien laughed, “I can’t touch most of that. I’m a disgrace, remember?”

“Who could forget?” 

Those kinds of comments were always slightly awkward, because Marinette was never sure if Nino was making a joke or being dead serious. 

“Marinette and I are busy tonight, anyway,” Alya said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, are we? I was not aware of that,” Marinette teased.

Nino raised an eyebrow, “Busy, huh?”

“It’s a girls’ night,” said Alya swiftly. 

“Whatever. Agreste and I will find some fun. Maybe we’ll ride the city in a shopping cart.”

Marinette grinned, “Have fun with that.”

“Catch you later, bitches,” said Alya, as she started walking across the street, to Marinette’s house.

The boys walked off in the opposite direction, talking loudly. Marinette, though she wouldn’t say it out loud because Alya would yell at her, was the tiniest bit disappointed that she didn’t get to hang out with Adrien. She followed Alya, who was strolling leisurely.

“We’re free!” Alya cheered.

“I have work at 7AM, I’m not free,” said Marinette.

“Okay, well, pretend you’re free for tonight.”

Marinette pushed open the door to the bakery, “That’s a little difficult seeing as I’m a barely employed graduate who lives with her parents.”

“Not anymore, you don’t!” Alya said.

Inside the bakery, Marinette’s parents were waiting for them with a comically oversized cake and matching smiles, which was bizarre because Alya had just insinuated that Marinette was being kicked out of her house.

“What’s this?” Marinette asked, nervous.

“That place we were looking at on the block next to my school? They accepted us!” Alya cried, “I put our deposit down this morning!”

“You’re kidding?!” Marinette squealed.

The apartment was a masterpiece with a full kitchen and two tiny bedrooms. It was ridiculously convenient and ridiculously expensive, but Agreste Fashion paid handsomely and Alya was a veritable miser when it came to their Sous-Terre winnings. If they could ever get the landlords to consider two fresh graduates as reliable tenants, it was their top choice. 

“We agreed to cosign after Alya showed us that you two had plenty for a deposit,” explained Sabine.

“Actually, we decided much earlier that we would, but it was Alya who suggested that we do it in secret,” laughed Tom. 

Alya shrugged, “I wanted to surprise you with it.”

Marinette threw her arms around Alya, squeezing her tight. “Thanks.”

“Congratulations, to both of you!” Marinette’s dad said, “You’ll always have a place here, too.”

“Thank you guys so much.” Marinette grabbed both of her parents in a hug. 

“Do you wanna go check it out now? We can bring the cake,” Alya said slyly.

Marinette grinned, “Let’s.”

\--------------------

With its turn-of-the-century architecture and manicured bushes out front, the apartment building felt like a dream. Marinette lugged the cake her parents had baked them out of the cab and up the front steps as Alya led the way into their new home. A middle-aged woman in a big shawl was on a chair in the entry, sorting mail.

“Back so soon?” she asked, smiling.

“Hey, Miss Fortier,” Alya said, “Can we pick up the keys to our place now?”

Miss Fortier nodded at Marinette.

“Of course, Alya. Is this your roommate?” 

“That’s Marinette, yeah. She’d shake your hand but we have cake.”

“Oh? Partying, are you?” 

Alya smirked, “Maybe. Any other tenants home tonight?”

“Just me, and I’m going to see my sister in about half an hour,” said Miss Fortier.

“Do we have explicit party permission?!”

The landlady laughed, “Here’s the keys, Alya. Don’t bring the house down.”

“We’ll do our best!”

There was no furniture in the apartment, but for some reason that was all the better. It had bright white walls and clean floors, and windows that looked over the street.

“This was pretty miraculous, huh?” Marinette commented, wandering into the kitchen and admiring the gleaming appliances.

“Ladybugs are lucky, you know,” Alya replied, “Which bedroom you want?”

“Right side.”

“Got it.”

“We can’t sleep here tonight, though,” said Marinette, “We don’t have any furniture.”

Alya peeked into the kitchen, eyes glittering, “But you know what we can do with a big empty apartment?”

“What?”

“Housewarming party. Landlady’s orders.”

Marinette grinned, “You told the guys we were busy, though. And they don’t know that we have a new place.”

“I wasn’t thinking about those two.”

“Then who – ooh, even better.”

They sat cross-legged on the floor, Marinette peering over Alya’s shoulder as she texted the group chat they had with the rest of the patrons at Sous-Terre, inviting them to a house party, club costumes mandatory. Marinette spared a thought for the fact that their underground friends were going to know their address, but the prospect of seeing everyone outside of the club made her feel like being just a little dangerous.

These were people who beat each other up for money, after all. And they’d be all together, under her roof.

“Timebreaker and Pharaoh are in, big surprise,” Alya reported. 

“Of course.”

“Mm, Chat, too. He asked if we want some help setting up.”

Marinette giggled, “What’s he gonna do, upend the whole club and bring it here?”

\--------------------

Chat Noir upended the whole club and brought it there. That’s how it felt, at least. Alya and Marinette had barely gotten back to their apartment after changing into their costumes when Chat, Bubbler, Stoneheart the bouncer, and Darkblade the knight bartender rolled up in two separate cars and starting piling out drinks, snacks, tables, and chairs. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, this is just a house party, dude,” Alya said to Chat as he walked into the apartment, arms full of food.

“No, this is your moving-house party,” Chat corrected, “We were already taking the night off and having a kickback, but this seemed more important.”

“Are you moving in or out?” Bubbler asked.

“Does it matter?” Marinette replied.

“If you’re moving in, we won’t trash the place.”

“Please don’t trash the place.”

“Alright.”

Within fifteen minutes, the Sous-Terre staff had transformed the empty front room of the apartment into a weird, tiny replica of the club. Darkblade had nachos and mimosas going in the kitchen, and Bubbler was setting up a stereo system that looked vaguely too obnoxious to use in an apartment that they had just rented out that morning. 

“Thanks for going to all the trouble for us,” Marinette said to Chat.

They were sitting at one of the tables, just watching and tasting some drinks that Darkblade had handed them along with the order to stay hydrated.

“Anything for my Lady,” he smiled.

“How many people do you think are actually going to show up?” she asked.

Chat shrugged, “Nobody knows outside our group text, and I can have Stoneheart make sure nobody we don’t know comes up.”

Marinette grinned wryly, “Nobody _I_ don’t know or nobody _you_ don’t know? I feel like there’s about a thousand-person difference.”

“You got me there.”

“Promise my house will make it out of this party alive?” 

“Promise.”

Chat, true to the eight-year-old’s sense of humor that Marinette was starting to understand he had, held out his claw-tipped pinkie finger. She linked her own with his, and they pinkie promised.

“Ooh, kinky,” said Bubbler, sidling up to their table, “Or should I say….pinkie.”

“Shut the fuck up, that was terrible,” Alya replied, joining them.

“Play nice,” Marinette said.

“And he’s not even drunk yet. Are you proud of the friends we’ve made, Ladybug?” teased Alya.

“Biggest fuckin’ dorks you’ve ever met, I know, I know,” Bubbler said, nudging Alya.

“Speaking of dorks,” interjected Stoneheart, his flat, gruff voice making the joke even funnier, “They’re here.”

Pharaoh’s golden mask appeared in the doorway, “I resent that!” 

He came in, followed by Timebreaker and Evillustrator. 

“Why does this place look exactly like Sous-Terre?” Timebreaker asked.

“This is literally my worst nightmare. I can never leave that hell hole,” Evillustrator muttered, smirking. 

Chat looked at him indignantly, “Excuse me, you’ve spent the night on the couches in my club like twice a week since I met you!”

Bubbler walked over to the stereo, glancing out the window as he went.

“Everyone else is outside,” he said, “Let’s kick it.”

He turned on the music, and immediately grabbed Alya and swept her over to dance. People piled into the tiny apartment, a few carrying snacks and a surprising number of them with more chairs and beanbags.

They all wore costumes, polyester and spandex and leather in a rainbow of colors that filled Marinette’s house with light and movement. Fighters of all ages and sizes, some still bandaged from fights earlier that week, some in just their masks and facepaint, danced and drank and chatted like they had no cares in the world.

Just walking across her new house was a journey. Marinette weaved between Reflekta and Princess Fragrance, who were dancing in a cloud of floral perfume, and skimmed past Dislocoeur and the drinks he was double-fisting. She was twirled like a swing dancer when Pharaoh grabbed her hand for a few steps. 

She found Alya and Bubbler leaning out the open window, looking at the stars.

She talked to Evillustrator over a plate of nachos with habanero peppers that made her cry with the spice and made him cry laughing at the sight of her teary eyes and running nose.

She danced a slow song with Chat Noir and kissed him, once more. Maybe twice. 

She curled up in a borrowed beanbag with Climatika and Puppeteer, the same girls she had fought and beaten on her very first night as Ladybug, and fell asleep with her limbs twined in theirs, listening to the music and the sound of her friends.

\--------------------

Sometime in the middle of the night, Marinette lugged the final overfull trash bag out to the curb, and heaved it into the dumpster. She had slept for the last hour of the party, until Darkblade woke her as everyone was leaving. The guys had driven the equipment back over to Sous-Terre and left her on trash duty. Alya, of course, was passed out on the floor (just asleep, not unconscious, Marinette had checked) and no help in cleaning. 

She had changed out of her Ladybug outfit into a t-shirt and shorts, knowing the unforgiving top-to-bottom housecleaning that was calling her name. That was fortunate, because the dumpster was far too tall for her and she was getting pretty up close and personal with its grimy metal front as she heaved the trash bag upward.

“Need a hand, princess?” 

A pair of gloved hands reached over her head and eased the bag into the dumpster. She turned around, half grateful and half ready to pummel whoever had cornered her in the alley behind her apartment, only to find Chat Noir.

“Chat?” she asked, surprised.

“Marinette,” he replied easily.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled, “I was at a friend’s party over here, and I was going to check if she needed any more help cleaning up. But I saw a damsel in distress.”

“Oh yeah, damsel,” Marinette muttered, “Thanks.”

Chat laughed, “Okay, too much, got it. I haven’t seen you since that night at Sous-Terre, what have you been up to?” 

“Normal life. Graduated, got a job, a house.”

“That’s great,” he said earnestly.

“Yep.”

“Any intentions of swinging by the club again?” he asked.

Marinette shrugged, trying to keep her smirk under wraps, “I don’t know if that kind of place is really my thing.”

“I understand,” he nodded, “But if you get bored, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You live around here? I don’t want to make you walk in the dark,” Chat jerked a thumb at his car.

“No, thanks, I live close,” said Marinette.

“Alright. I’m heading out, Princess, see you around.”

And Marinette, dumbfounded that he had kissed her in the Ladybug mask hours before and still couldn’t recognize her without it, watched as he climbed into his car and drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to my lovely commenters who pointed out my mistake in the last chapter. Please make my day and comment again ;)
> 
> ALSO please feel free to bother me on the tumblr, at ladybug-et-chatnoir.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!! It may seem abrupt, but there is so much more to come. Also, gotta admit that the beginning of the chapter was me just fucking around :P  
> Expect musical references and some real meta-fiction.

“We need to take a second and think about character development.”

Alya, her auburn hair tied back in a bandanna, lounged on the sofa she was supposed to be positioning in the living room, looking expectantly at Marinette.

“Character development?”

“Yes,” Alya said, “Concerning you.”

Marinette put down an armload of coffee mugs on the kitchen counter, “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

“Oh, come on. What’s with all this bouncing around between Adrien and Chat Noir? Adrien talks to you once in a blue moon but gives you Disney Princess eyes whenever he sees you, and Chat Noir kisses you in our empty apartment at a raging party but has no idea who you really are! I don’t know what you want anymore! And I don’t think you do, either.”

“That is…that is unfair!” Marinette sputtered, “You’re seeing Nino and Bubbler at the same time!”

“Yes, but I communicate with them,” Alya said primly.

“I communicate.”

“No, you don’t. Both of my dudes know that we’re not exclusive and they’re okay with it. I keep them in the loop.”

Marinette crossed her arms, “I’m not dating Chat Noir. And I’m definitely not dating Adrien.”

“Chat Noir gave you three hundred bucks and Adrien probably got you a job at his dad’s company.”

“It’s open-ended! Space for plot progression!”

Alya slid off her glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her shirt, purposefully stalling.

“Look,” she said, eventually, “There’s obviously only one way to fix this.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow, “I’m not committing manslaughter.”

“No! You need to get to know these boys better. One of them might end up being a great relationship for you.”

“I don’t need a relationship.”

“Marinette, you designed your wedding dress when you were six.”

“So?!”

“So, you’re a hopeless romantic who needs a relationship the way I need a RedBull in my coffee on Mondays.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. 

“I know that you like these guys,” Alya said, her voice kinder, “And I want to make sure you’re not hurting yourself with all the sneaking around.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you made me join a secret fight club.”

Alya stood up, “Enough with all the ‘made you’ bullshit. You love fighting. You love Sous-Terre, for more reasons than one.” 

“I don’t love Chat Noir!”

“I never said anything about Chat Noir.” 

Marinette blushed. She stalked back to the kitchen and started putting dishes away in the cupboards to have something to do with her hands. Alya followed.

“You can’t tell me that you’re not interested in getting to know them better.”

“Something feels wrong,” Marinette admitted, “I don’t know either of them at all. But seeing Chat feels like I’m betraying Adrien. And seeing Adrien feels empty, like he’s holding something back from me.”

“One of them’s always in a mask and the other does crack,” deadpanned Alya. 

“Besides that.” 

“Just something to think about, girl. A love triangle like this isn’t always as fun as I make it seem.”

Marinette grinned, “There’s only one thing worse.”

“Than a love triangle?”

“Mmhm.”

“What?” Alya asked, laughing.

“A love square.”

\--------------------

Some weeks later, Marinette was closing up shop at her parents’ bakery and sneaking cookies as she did. She didn’t work evenings at Agreste Fashion, which was just as well because they had her getting up at the asscrack of dawn. So her parents, ever thrifty, had asked if she would help with closing a few nights a week so they could have time to themselves. And Marinette, ever a people-pleaser, agreed.

The days were getting shorter again, and she was enjoying the warm twilight filtering into the bakery as she packaged up the leftover pastries and hoped that no last-minute customers would disrupt her peace.

The universe was obviously not on her side.

A pair of high heels click-clacked their way into the store as Marinette shoved slices of quiche into cardboard boxes. She looked up, expecting the usual soccer-mom type in a velour jumpsuit that liked to run in right before closing, and nearly had an aneurism when she saw her Agreste Fashion supervisor, Nathalie, instead. 

“Um, hello,” Marinette stammered, “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, please, Miss Dupain-Cheng, you know I don’t eat sugar,” she replied.

“Sorry.”

“Mm. I came by on my employer’s orders.”

Marinette dropped a box of quiche, which fell – thank God – face-up. 

Nathalie ignored her, “You see, Mr. Agreste’s son has not returned home for several days. But, we saw him on the house security system coming back in this morning with several unsavory-looking characters.”

“Huh, okay. But what does-”

“Mr. Agreste is a very busy man. I, however, am aware that Adrien knows you through school,” Nathalie interrupted.

“Okay.”

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, do you know where Adrien is?” 

Marinette picked up the quiche, giving herself some time to breathe. 

“He’s…an adult, Nathalie. I don’t think you can force him to come home,” Marinette said slowly.

Nathalie leaned over the counter, closer to Marinette, “Let me put it this way. Mr. Agreste’s son was captured on video surveillance, being led through the Agreste mansion by several people in dark clothes, looking like he had just had the _shit_ beat out of him.”

“I-”

“I will ask again, Marinette, do you know where Adrien is?” 

Marinette swallowed hard, “No. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

And that was true. Nathalie looked her over, sizing her up. Marinette hoped her expression wasn’t as terrified as she felt. But finally, her supervisor relaxed.

“Okay,” Nathalie said, “But if I find out that you have been intentionally lying to me, there will be hell to pay. Both in your career and in your friendship with Adrien.”

“Understood.”

“Also…”

Marinette met her eyes.

“I’ll take a quiche. Just…not the one you dropped,” Nathalie said, with a terrifying amount of dark humor in her usually flat voice.

“Of course. Coming right up.” 

\--------------------

Marinette did not know how deeply she was into the clusterfuck that was her multiple crushes until Adrien came to her house.

Nathalie had left the bakery with a quiche and a promise to make Marinette’s life hell if she was lying about Adrien. Moments later, Marinette’s parents had texted her to say that they were going to see a film and that she was welcome to stay the night at home if she didn’t want to make the journey back to her apartment. So she stayed.

The pounding on the front door scared the shit out of her. It started off a normal knock, and escalated to a full-on banging when she hesitated to answer.

When she opened the door, she saw Adrien standing there, grinning at her sheepishly.

Like, Adrien. Like, his-father’s-assistant-had-just-threatened-Marinette-with-a-box-of-quiche Adrien. Adrien, at her parents’ door, looking at her like a guilty kid out past curfew.

“Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, she nodded, and he wandered inside and collapsed on the couch like he’d just run a marathon. 

“Thanks,” he sighed.

“Something to drink?” she offered, making a conscious effort to sound normal.

He nodded, blond hair bouncing, “Sparkling water, if you have it. Or whiskey.”

“Water it is.”

She gathered two bottles of sparkling water and placed them on the coffee table in front of Adrien as she passed. When she came around and sat on the other part of the couch, facing him, she nearly had a heart attack.

He had one brilliant black eye, the purpling bruises spilling very noticeably across his exercise-flushed skin. 

“What happened?” she asked, gesturing at her own eye in indication. 

“I lost,” he said.

Marinette stared, “What?”

“A fight. I lost,” he repeated, “Look.”

Marinette’s stomach lurched. Fight. He fights?

And he was pulling up his shirt, and his ribcage was a mess of matching bruises. There was a bleeding cut along his stomach that was in the unmistakable shape of a fist wearing a large ring, dragging knuckles across flesh. Marinette knew. She’d seen wounds like it before.

“Who were you fighting?” she asked, wondering mildly if she was going into shock.

Adrien dropped the hem of his shirt again, “Just a guy.”

“Come on,” she pressed, “You don’t just brawl with strangers on the sidewalk.”  
“Maybe I do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s none of your business, Marinette, I just came for some ice,” he grumbled. 

That woke her back up, “You’re hurt.”

He chuckled darkly, “You should’ve seen me earlier.”

“We’re icing that shit, right now.”

And Marinette stalked into the kitchen and back for a package of frozen vegetables. Adrien pressed them gratefully to his face, wincing when the cold met his bruises.

She crossed her arms, “Tell me what happened.”

“I told you, I lost a fight.”

“Why didn’t you go to your house?”

Adrien shrugged, “I did. But if my dad or his assistant saw me, I would be fucked.”

Marinette spared a thought for Nathalie, and the fear that underlay the anger in her voice as she played Twenty Questions earlier. She, at least, was very worried.

“Why? Wouldn’t they want to help you?”

“No!”

She furrowed her brow, “Why not?”

“Because they don’t like me.”

“They love you, though. They care about you.”

Adrien made a frustrated noise, “But they wouldn’t understand this!”

“Look, accidents happen and-”

“This wasn’t an accident!”

She paused. “What do you mean? You said you got in a fight, I don’t understand.”

A flutter of shame crossed Adrien’s face then, and he hung his head, blond waves obscuring his eyes.

“I’m a prizefighter.”

Marinette could not have heard him correctly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Like, streetfighting. Underground,” she clarified.

He nodded.

She stared at him, perplexed. Adrien Agreste was not fighter material. Sure, Adrien was tall and broad-shouldered, but he was lithe and thin. He did narcotics and destroyed his lungs with cigarettes and partied with American coeds and dressed like a runway model. There was no way she could imagine him fighting some Chat Noir type and winning. No wonder he looked like hell warmed over.

“Why?” she asked him, finally, “For the money?”

“No, I don’t need the money, believe me.”

“Then why?”

Though bruised and tired, Adrien looked up at her with a wide smile, eyes glittering with something dangerous, “Because I’m good.”

“You’re good,” she parroted dumbly. 

Yes, this was actually happening. Adrien Agreste, high-life bad boy-slash-weeaboo piece of shit, was an underground fighter. 

And then the real realization set in. MARINETTE was an underground fighter. She gripped the arm of the couch as if to keep herself upright. What if they had met before? What if they had fought? How many fight clubs could there possibly BE in Paris, dammit? 

“I’m really good. You should come watch me sometime.”

“I think I’ve had my fill of shady fights, thanks,” Marinette replied, too quickly.

Adrien cocked his head, “What do you mean?” 

She blanched. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” 

He slid the half-melted pack of vegetables down to his chest, and pressed them against the soft material of his t-shirt. Marinette bit her lip. He was really hurt. He had obviously not gotten any medical attention, and after making the effort to break into his own house, he hadn’t helped himself there, either.

“You…do you want me to take a look at the rest of this?” asked Marinette, waving a hand in his general direction.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Then why did you come here?” she snapped.

Adrien leaned back, looking mildly surprised, “Damn, sorry. I just figured that of all people, _you_ wouldn’t get mad at me…”

“I’m not mad, I just…” Marinette groaned, “Take your shirt off.”

He let his usual smirk overtake his beaten face.

“I love when a girl takes control like that.”

Marinette looked at him, “I will dismember you and bake you into a pie like goddamn Sweeney Todd.”

“Technically, Mrs. Lovett made the pies.”

“Take off the fucking shirt.”

He obeyed, baring a surprisingly toned set of abs complete with a baker’s dozen bruises and a bleeding wound. Marinette tried hard not to stare as she got up to find the first-aid supplies.

Her head was under the sink in the kitchen when she heard the telltale jangling of the bakery door opening.

“Shit,” Marinette cursed.

“What?”

“It’s my parents.”

“So?”

“You’re shirtless.”

Adrien smirked again, the usual charm marred by his black eye, “What are we, twelve?”

“You look like you were just beat half to death.”

“I kinda was.”

“Shut up,” she instructed, “C’mon, let’s go to my room. They won’t bug us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nathalie is one of my favorite characters. She has so much potential and gives so few fucks, I love her.  
> Make sure to comment and tell me what's what! Love you!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things take an abrupt turn. Expect vague intimidation tactics and some good old-fashioned ugly crying. I also invented a minor character who's only around for like 6 lines but I love her???  
> Enjoy!

Bringing Adrien into her childhood room was not something that Marinette had imagined. It was the kind of thing you did with middle school crushes on cutesy video-game dates, not with your adult paramour while he tried not to bleed on the carpet.

It didn’t help that he was all but limping up the stairs, his left ankle worryingly stiff and awkward. But he sat primly on her ottoman and let her wash out the cut across his stomach with antibacterial wipes, and cover the whole thing with a big piece of gauze. 

“You should’ve gone to the emergency room. What if you broke something?” Marinette commented.

Adrien shrugged noncommittally and pulled his shirt back on, settling the loose fabric over his bandages with a wince.

“I’m serious,” she prodded.

“I’ll get it checked out,” he said.

“You better.”

Adrien walked over to Marinette’s full-length mirror, his foot still too stiff to be normal, and looked at himself pensively. She stood a short distance behind him and watched.

He grinned wryly, “You can’t see anything when I’m dressed, it’s cool. Except…”

“Your eye,” Marinette agreed.

“You got any makeup? I can totally cover this.”

She eyed him, smiling, “I don’t think it would match you.”

“I can blend, Marinette, God,” he teased.

As she was about to reply, she heard her parents’ voices in the hallway. They had made it upstairs, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t stop in to check on their daughter. 

“Shh,” she said, waving her hand at Adrien frantically and standing over the trapdoor to her room.

Marinette’s parents spoke outside, in hushed tones.

_“She asleep?”_

_“I don’t think so.”_

“Marinette?” came Sabine’s voice, louder.

“Shit,” Marinette hissed, “That’s my mom.”

But Adrien wasn’t listening. He had wandered over to Marinette’s old desk and was staring down at something with wide eyes. 

“Marinette? What is this?”

“Shhh! You need to leave!”

He nodded, looking up at her reluctantly, “I can hang out on the roof.”

“Is that safe?”

“Probably not.”

Marinette sighed, “Okay. Onto the roof.”

Adrien clambered gingerly up the ladder that opened onto Marinette’s tiny rooftop balcony, and she shut the door behind him just as her mother came into the room.

“Marinette? Were you talking to someone?” asked Sabine, tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“I was FaceTiming with Alya,” Marinette lied swiftly, “Telling her I wouldn’t be home tonight.”

“Okay, honey,” Sabine smiled, “Don’t stay up too late.”

And as her mother bid her a goodnight and left, Marinette edged toward the balcony door. She threw it open, expecting to find Adrien grinning at her. But he wasn’t there.

Marinette climbed up, only to see an empty balcony. He wasn’t there.

“Adrien?” she whispered, “Adrien!”

He must have climbed down the side of the building, onto the marquee above the bakery, and then dropped to the ground. It was possible; Alya had done it once, after Nino insinuated that she couldn’t. But with his injuries, Adrien was probably a heap on the sidewalk.

She leaned out over the rail, but saw nothing. He had simply fucking vanished. So Marinette went back inside.

Once she had recovered from the shock of losing Adrien somewhere outside, she turned her attention to the other elephant in the room. What the hell had he been studying so intently?

Marinette walked over to her desk to see, and immediately wished that she hadn’t.

Sitting in full view, peeking out of an open manila folder in all of its full-color betrayal, was one of the original sketches of her Ladybug outfit.

\--------------------

Marinette spent the rest of the night sleepless, wondering what higher power wanted to see her destruction so badly. What had she done to deserve this? She was a good person, mostly. But just in case, she made a silent pact with herself to lie low for a while, to just do her job and hang out with Alya and stay away from the underground scene.

The sun’s insistent shining through the parted curtains of her room prodded Marinette out of bed. Somehow, she was going to face Nathalie and pretend that nothing was wrong. She dressed quickly in the spare clothes that were left in her childhood room, and, croissant from the bakery in hand, set off on foot for Agreste Fashion.

It was going to be a hell of a day.

True to the image of its filthy-rich owner, Agreste Fashion had its business headquarters in a completely renovated nineteenth-century building, a miniature chateau in the most expensive district in the city. Just walking in the front door made Marinette feel underdressed and ragged, and that morning, with her tired eyes and creased dress, was no exception. 

She rode the elevator in the lobby up to the design floor. All of the interns and lower-level designers worked at small tables crammed into the open, airy room, with mannequins and cartloads of fabric scattered between them. Her desk was tucked in a corner, but it faced a floor-to-ceiling window with a view clear across Paris. 

“Morning, Marinette,” said Elise, the girl at the next table.

“Morning.”

“You look awful. Want a donut? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” Marinette said gratefully.

Elise winked and set down a takeout cup of coffee on Marinette’s desk, “I got an extra.”

Marinette picked up the cup and took a big sip, immediately scalding the roof of her mouth with the hot coffee. As she choked down the offending drink, Nathalie walked up to her desk. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, you…oh.”

Nathalie raised an eyebrow at Marinette, who still had a mouthful of coffee and whose eyes were filled with tears from the mouth-burns. She dropped a leaf of notepad paper on the desk.

“When you’re done with…whatever it is you’re doing here, you’re wanted upstairs,” she said.

And as Marinette nodded desperately and swallowed the coffee, Nathalie stalked away, stilettos tapping. 

“This isn’t your morning, is it, honey?” Elise commented, smiling sympathetically. 

Marinette shook her head, “It never is.”

“What’s the note say?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette said, picking up the paper.

Elise leaned into the aisle, “Well?”

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng: Come to the fifth floor immediately. Mr. Agreste wishes to speak to you,” Marinette read.

“That can’t be good. What did you do?”

Marinette groaned, letting her head fall forward and clunk on the table. Of course. Of course Gabriel fuckin’ Agreste wanted to speak to her. Just when she thought she had hit a general rock bottom. Gabriel Agreste didn’t talk to you in person unless you were getting promoted or spectacularly fired, and she was certain it wasn’t the former.

“Are you gonna go?” Elise asked.

“I have to,” she sighed, “I’ll be in even deeper trouble if I don’t.”

She downed the rest of her coffee, slung her bag over her shoulder, and shuffled back over to the elevator. Why did all the shit have to hit the fan all at once? This job had barely lasted her two months, and the boss was already calling her in to atone for her sins. 

There was the possibility that it was a good kind of meeting, of course, but Marinette was fully aware that her luck was fucky at best. 

Marinette had calmed down so much by the time that she reached Gabriel’s office she almost didn’t knock. She caught herself, though, and rapped on the carved wood until a crisp, bored voice called out for her to enter. So she did.

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, take a seat.”

Gabriel Agreste was a tall, thin man with white-blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses that flashed menacingly like an anime villain. Marinette’s first thought was that Adrien definitely got his looks from his mother. Her second thought was a vague horrified screaming because oh god she had seen Adrien last night and basically lied to Nathalie God help her.

He didn’t look up from the pile of papers on his desk as Marinette sat down in front of him. An intimidation tactic, she thought. It was working.

“How…how are you?” she asked, wincing as her voice quavered. 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, “Me? The real question is, how are you?”

Marinette nearly choked, “I’m fine. Great, actually, Mr. Agreste-”

She stopped short. Gabriel had spun one of the papers around and pushed it in front of her. 

“Tell me what’s wrong with this.”

It was a sketch of a gown trimmed in feathers, the bodice impeccably colored with pale blue and green colored drawing pencils. A small brooch shaped like the tail of a peacock sat at the top of the bodice where the fabric gathered. Marinette stared at it.

“Well?”

She didn’t look up as she said, “The…the hem is uneven in the back. The train either has to be longer, so it’ll trail, or shorter so that it hangs just above the ground, or else the wearer might trip.”

“Good. What else?”

“The feathers are just hemmed on. They need a sturdier stitch than that, they’ll all let go. Not to mention the fact that you can’t hem silk in something so light. Nothing will hang right. Either weight the feathers or pick a different fabric.”

Gabriel took the paper back and met Marinette’s eye, resting his chin on his folded hands, “Miss Dupain-Cheng, do you know why you’re on my staff?”

“…Because my design was acceptable?”

“Because your design was chosen,” Gabriel amended, “But not by me. Or my team. By my son. I gave my approval, of course, but he was the one who first brought the design to my attention. Fascinating, is it not?”

Marinette could feel all the color leave her face. Chosen…by Adrien?

“You do excellent work. It would be a shame to have to cut your employment here short for…personal reasons.”

She shook her head, “I don’t…”

“My son has done you a favor, and you will do one for me,” Gabriel said.

“But, sir, what-”

He interrupted her, “You will tell me where Adrien is, immediately, or else I will ensure that your designs never sell in this city, and your career is brought to an end before it begins.” 

What? Was this meeting set up just to threaten her?

Marinette was shaking, “Mr. Agreste, I told Nathalie Sancoeur that I haven’t seen him in at least a few weeks.”

Gabriel got up and began pacing around his office slowly, hands folded behind his back. His well-polished shoes clicked across the tile floor with authority.

“My son does not have many associates. The ones that he does have are monitored very closely. I have traced the miscreants who broke into my home the other night back to a run-down shell of a building down on Rue St Denis.”

Marinette’s heart dropped. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my son’s involvement in that area of the city, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

She opened her mouth, and for a horrifying second, no words came out.

“I’ve never seen your son around there,” she said, finally.

“But you’ve been around there, then?” Gabriel purred.

“That’s not-”

He stood in front of his picture window with such severity that it looked like he practiced the pose in the mirror beforehand. 

“I’ll make this as clear as possible,” said Gabriel, “If you see my son, you tell him that I want to see him. And then you tell me that you spoke to him. If I find out that you’re helping him, you will be out of my business faster than you can say ‘couture’. Understood?” 

“Understood,” Marinette squeaked.

“You may take the rest of the day off for your trouble, if you wish,” he said, smiling coldly at her. 

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Marinette maintained her dignity until Gabriel’s office door clicked shut behind her. Then she started running. 

Running was the wrong word. She was sprinting. Taking the elevator would have meant waiting, so she took all six staircases at top speed and nearly knocked over a model walking past on tottering high heels in the lobby. 

Agreste Fashion was a few reasonable blocks from hers and Alya’s apartment. The obvious choice would’ve been to go home and cry into her bed for a few hours. Or even a few streets further to see Alya at school, pull the best friend card to get her out of class, and talk the whole thing out. But Marinette was not in the mood for the obvious or the rational. 

All of the streetfighting she and Alya did meant that Marinette had become quite the athlete. Though out of breath and aching, she kept up her sprint all the way across town, ignoring the looks of confusion she received from people on the street. And just when her legs started to feel like lead blocks, she stopped short outside of Sous-Terre.

She hadn’t intended to go there. Just hours before she had decided that it would be best of steer clear of being Ladybug for a while, since Adrien had seen her outfit. But she had been running on autopilot, no pun intended, and she wasn’t in costume anyway. Marinette could visit her favorite place, even if Ladybug couldn’t. 

It was eight-o’clock in the morning, and the club was most definitely closed. But when Marinette went around and checked the back entrance, it was unlocked. She walked through the open floor, which was fully lit but silent and empty. 

At some point, Marinette realized she was crying. 

She staggered to the backstage area, intending to collapse onto one of the couches and have a good, long angry cry. But she ran smack into Chat Noir.

“Marinette?” he asked, incredulous. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the run. Maybe it was the anger boiling over from her talk with Gabriel Agreste. Or maybe it was the way that Chat had grabbed her shoulders and was looking at her with such pure concern that she could actually feel her heart breaking. In any case, Marinette started crying harder. 

“What’s wrong?” Chat asked, “Mari? Talk to me.”

In response, Marinette held out her arms. A flutter of a sad smile crossed over Chat’s face, and he buried her in a hug, pressing her face into the warm crook of his collarbone. 

“It’s okay, princess. It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t okay, but Chat was so earnest and so open and so Chat that Marinette almost believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Gabriel Agreste is a dick and a half. He was so much fun to write, you have no idea.  
> Leave me some lovely comments, babies! Til next time!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is fanart of this fic now. Fanart! I may or may not have actually screamed when I saw it.  
> Lady Wifi: http://lygrim.tumblr.com/post/147385878198  
> and some Marichat from ch12: http://ladybug-et-chatnoir.tumblr.com/post/147378397383  
> In this chapter, you can expect sleazy pickup lines and one unexpectedly gnarly beat-down. It's also my longest chapter to date.

As Marinette stopped crying, Chat eased her down onto the couch, with her head resting on his lap. He ran his gloved hands through her hair gently, plastic claws raking relaxing patterns onto her scalp, and she leaned into his touch. 

“You ready to talk about it?” he asked.

He was being so nice that Marinette nearly forgot that she wasn’t in her own mask. Chat didn’t know her very well as Marinette, and it was odd that he would be so open with her. But she wasn’t in the mood to question his kindness.

“I guess,” she said. 

“Okay. No pressure.”

Marinette took a long, shaking breath, “It’s my boss. He’s…kind of threatening me.”

Chat tensed up.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said hurriedly, “It’s my fault. I’m kind of acquainted with my boss’s family, and he thinks I’m keeping secrets from him on purpose and messing with the family…it’s a big shitshow and I haven’t done anything to fix it. It’s my fault.”

“That doesn’t sound like your fault,” Chat said. 

Marinette shrugged, “It’s my job, my responsibility.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like your boss is just a giant dick.”

“Even if that’s true, I can’t just ignore what he says.” 

Chat looked down at her strangely, “Why not?” 

“Because he’s my boss.”

“So? He’s peeved about stuff you’re doing outside of the office, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up.

“Are you directly in violation of your contract or anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So your boss has basically no control over you outside of work. He can just fuck right off.”

Marinette smiled, “Try telling him that.”

“I’d like to,” Chat replied, “Seriously though. Fuck that guy. You do what you want at home, he can’t stop you.”

“He could always fire me.”

“Then you don’t need him.”

“He has the power to make sure I never work again,” Marinette said.

Chat nodded slowly, “He could try. But what kind of person does that make him? He doesn’t own the world. You can work your own way up.”

That dose of logic was exactly what Marinette needed. Chat wasn’t telling fucking riddles, after all. She swiped at her tear-streaked face with one hand as she mulled over his words, and laughed inwardly that Chat Noir was her shoulder to cry on. 

“You’re right.”

“Damn right I am.”

She looked at him wryly, “I’m sorry I just burst into your club like this while you’re closed. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“No worries. Always a pleasure to entertain my favorite girl,” Chat said.

“We’ve talked, like, twice.”

“Still my favorite.”

“Your favorite, huh?” Marinette repeated, cocking one eyebrow, “What about Ladybug?”

He stiffened again, “What do you know about Ladybug?” 

“She fights here, right?”

“Have you ever seen her fight? Shit, Marinette, I thought you’d only been here once.”

Marinette shrugged, “Maybe you haven’t noticed me.”

“Trust me, I would notice.”

“I could fill a book with things you don’t notice, Chat,” she teased.

“How rude,” he said, folding his arms and pouting at her playfully, “I’ll have you know that I am a very busy but very attentive guy.”

“I’ll let you get back to work, then,” Marinette replied.

“You don’t have to go.”

“No, no, I should head out. I’ve imposed enough.”

Chat nodded, “Okay. Promise to come visit sometime, though?”

“Promise.”

Marinette had reached the door leading back onto the club floor before Chat called after her.

“Hey, you know the one good thing about you keeping that job?”

“No, what?” she smirked.

Chat’s grin was genuine enough to make her heart skip a beat, until he replied.

“You don’t have to take my prize money anymore.”

\--------------------

“It’s not like I took his fucking money. He gave it to me!” Marinette said.

She was mid-rant, recounting the events with Adrien and with Gabriel and with Chat to Alya, as tradition dictated. Several days had passed, giving Marinette plenty of time to gather her thoughts and regale her best friend with the most thorough version of the infuriating story. She and Alya were lying side by side on the rug in the middle of their living room, staring up at the ceiling, half a cold pizza forgotten beside them.

“Still, it’s gotta feel nice that you have a friend like Chat,” replied Alya, “Y’know, to mop you up when I’m busy. I owe him one for giving me a break.”

“Very funny,” Marinette scrunched up her face, “I just wish I had thought to thank him. I was so stressed out from Adrien and Gabriel…and Chat was so kind.”

“We can literally go to the club tonight and see him,” Alya pointed out.

“Can’t stay away, can we?” 

Alya sat up and grabbed a slice of pizza, “Girl, we have made like four grand at that club. I hope I never have to stay away.”

“True. But what about Adrien?”

“What about him?”

“He’s a fighter, Alya! What if he shows up to Sous-Terre, too?”

Alya shrugged, “What are you gonna do, print out a picture of Adrien and hold it up to everyone in the club to find a match? Don’t worry about it.”

“I have to worry,” Marinette countered.

“Because your boss has a personal vendetta against you or because you still can’t pick between Adrien and Chat?” Alya asked.

“I wish you would stop with that.”

“I’d stop if you could just figure out your fucking feelings. Now are we going to the club or not?”

Marinette got to her feet and walked over to the unassuming wicker basket next to the television where they kept their fighting outfits. She lifted out her spotted mask and ran her fingers along the silky fabric. There was something nostalgic about going to Sous-Terre anonymously, without the attention and noise that always surrounded her as the champion Ladybug. 

“We can go,” Marinette agreed.

“Great!”

“On one condition.”

Alya groaned, “I hate conditions!”

“We have to go out of costume.”

“Why? Nobody will recognize us.”

Marinette laughed, “That’s kind of the point.”

“Mari, I will wither away and die if people aren’t constantly showering me with attention. You know that.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Oh sure, you say that now. But good luck winning doubles fights when I’m an attention-deprived husk.”

\--------------------

Walking through the crowds in Sous-Terre was admittedly a lot easier as Ladybug, when patrons would part like the Red Sea to let their celebrity through. Marinette fought her way up to the bar as Alya stopped to talk to a girl in bodycon dress. 

Pharaoh was working the bar, and it took every ounce of control in Marinette not to enthusiastically say hello. It might be a tiny bit of an identity tip-off if she played too nice with people who were supposed to be strangers. She took a seat at the counter, and he made his way over.

“Evenin’. What can I get you?” he asked, smiling so wide that she could see his teeth glinting under the golden mask.

“Rum and cherry Coke,” Marinette decided. 

Pharaoh nodded, “I’ll have to see your ID. Can’t be too careful. You know I had some middle schoolers ask for vodka once? It was awful.”

She giggled, recalling the first time she had heard that story some months ago, and slid her ID across the counter with her credit card. Pharaoh studied them for a second, and handed them back, clinking a glass down to start the drink.

“Marinette. That’s a pretty name,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Pharaoh grinned again, and pushed the finished cocktail toward her with a flourish. The bar was crowded and the drink was tasty, and Marinette sat comfortably sipping at it until a voice at her shoulder startled her.

“Hey. How’s it going?” 

When Marinette looked up, she thought it was Chat. The black outfit and mask were the same. The messy blond hair was about right. But the smirk wasn’t.

“Um, fine,” she replied, glancing down the bar at Pharaoh, who was facing the other way.

“Come here often?” asked the Chat, scooting closer so that he was standing right next to her chair, leering down at her.

“I guess.”

“Well, tell me, how is someone like you here all alone?” he grinned wider.

Oh, shit. Okay. This was really happening.

“I’m not here alone.”

He snaked his arm around the back of her barstool, “Bummer. I kinda wanted to get to know you better.”

That was obviously not Chat Noir. Marinette knew it, and nobody in their right mind would mistake him for the real thing. She glared at him, deciding if she would get kicked out of the club if she just hauled off and punched him in the face like he deserved. But Pharaoh, ever parental and hovering, noticed what was going on at exactly the right moment. 

“Copycat, what are you doing here? I thought Stoneheart threw you out last night.”

The other Chat, Copycat, crossed his arms, “I’m trying to talk to this lady, Egypt, leave me alone.”

“Marinette, are you interested in this half-ass doppelganger?” Pharaoh asked her.

She shook her head.

“Alright. Then move along, pussycat, before I have you neutered.”

Muttering darkly about not wanting to be neutered, Copycat released Marinette’s chair and disappeared into the shadowy dance floor. Marinette studied her drink, wondering briefly what kind of alternate reality she had entered.

“I can’t stand that guy. He has this weird thing for Ladybug,” Pharaoh said, offhandedly.

“What?” Marinette’s head snapped up.

He nodded, “You know about her? Super famous here. Great fighter. Yeah, well, this Copycat guy saw her fight a couple times, I guess, and started having this really creepy crush on her. But everyone knows she and Chat Noir kinda have a thing going on. So he had that outfit made and dyed his hair and shit to try to get her attention. So tacky.”

“If he likes Ladybug so much, why was he picking on me?”

“Dunno,” Pharaoh replied, “Maybe you remind him of Ladybug.”

He smirked far too deviously for Marinette’s comfort, and turned back to the rows of alcohol he had been organizing. She would’ve grabbed him and demanded a further explanation of his furtive comments had Alya not chosen that moment to make her appearance. 

“I’m glad Pharaoh decided to handle that,” Alya said, leaning on the barstool next to Marinette.

“What, you think I can’t handle myself?” she replied.

“No, I think you would’ve put what’s-his-face in a body cast.”

“Why, thank you.”

“And then someone would have called the cops, and you would’ve been banned for life, and I would have too, by association.”

Marinette grinned, “That’s a pretty elaborate story.”

“Whatever. Do you want to head over to the ring? Someone was saying the fight’s about to start,” said Alya.

“Okay.”

Patrons were starting to gather around the makeshift ring, but Marinette and Alya were able to find a prime spot along one of the ropes. And as they peoplewatched, they saw a familiar brightly-colored figure cutting through the crowd. 

Bubbler, per usual, was on top form as he mingled with the club patrons. He was handing out free drinks and hyping up the crowd, and he was coming their way.

“Ladies! Enjoying your…selves…”

His voice trailed off as he focused on the two of them. Alya reached out and snapped her fingers in his face. 

“Earth to Primary Colors!” Alya teased.

After a beat, Bubbler smiled brightly, “Whoa, sorry, déjà vu. Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh yeah,” Marinette said, returning his smile.

“Haven’t seen you two around before. What’re your names?” he asked.

“I’m Marinette, and this is Alya.”

“Sweet. Any complaints, you ask for Bubbler, okay? That’s me.”

“Actually,” Alya interjected, “There’s a skeezy dude in a literal catsuit picking on unsuspecting girls at the bar.”

“Chat Noir?” Bubbler asked, shocked. 

“No, the other guy.”

“Ohh, yeah, okay. Six-two, bad bleached blond, cheap outfit?” 

“That’s him,” Marinette nodded.

Bubbler shrugged, “Called himself Copycat. He just signed up for a fight. He wanted to be the feature tonight, actually. He’s on in like ten minutes.”

“You just let any bozo off the street be your feature?” Alya asked. 

“Anyone who thinks they can beat Chat Noir is welcome to try,” he replied.

Marinette raised one eyebrow, “He’s going against Chat Noir?”

“He asked to. What was I gonna do, tell him no?” Bubbler chuckled, “It’s gonna be good. In fact, I have to go do announcer shit now. Ladies.”

And with that, Bubbler swung himself up into the ring and scooped a microphone from its stand against one of the posts, waving people in closer. It wasn’t necessary, though, because there were already people packed in sardinelike rows going as far back as Marinette could see. 

“Heeeeeeey Sous-Terre! You ready to see something real special?” Bubbler said, voice reverbing around the tall ceilings. 

The crowd roared back.

“I thought so. Tonight we have our own golden boy, Chat Noir-” he paused as the audience cheered, “-against a real stiff competitor, Copycat!”

And Chat Noir launched himself over the ropes to a wave of applause. 

“Check it out, guys, you’re not seeing double! There’s a real catfight going on!” Bubbler crowed.

Copycat climbed into the ring with a slinking gait and a glare that made Marinette nervous. He grasped Chat Noir’s hand, shook it once without preamble, and the two cats retreated into their respective corners.

“Alright, you all know the drill! Bell rings, our guys go at it! Get ready!”

Bubbler slipped under the ropes and went to stand on the other side of Alya, microphone in hand to continue his commentary.

Approximately two seconds after the bell dinged, Copycat darted in close to Chat with a kind of precision that Marinette had never seen in that club, and swung a left hook to the face that sent Chat sprawling onto the floor. Marinette gasped audibly.

“Ooh, Chat takes the first hit!” Bubbler said, looking sidelong at Alya with wide eyes. 

Chat got back to his feet, but he didn’t lunge at Copycat. He swayed on the spot for a second, until another punch sent him reeling again. Marinette was close enough to see the sneer on Copycat’s face as he waited, body tensed, for Chat to stand up. This time, Chat took a few steps before his left ankle buckled.

“Is Chat Noir limping? Folks, this doesn’t look good!”

Marinette slipped her hand into Alya’s and squeezed tightly. Copycat was several inches taller and much, much bigger than Chat Noir, and though the size of the other fighter wasn’t usually a problem, Chat was not on top form. His face was screwed up in pain as he walked up to his opponent, who leaned on the ropes, waiting.

Copycat stood almost nose-to-nose with Chat, and then hauled off and slammed his fist into Chat’s stomach. Chat fell to the ground, curling in on himself.

“Why would you let him fight Chat?!” Alya cried, tugging on Bubbler’s arm.

“I thought it would be fun to watch! Symmetry or whatever! I didn’t know he’d beat the shit out of him!” said Bubbler plaintively. 

“Stop them!” Marinette begged. 

Bubbler looked around at her, “I can’t do anything unless it gets-”

The crowd’s screams drowned him out as Copycat paced around Chat, who was struggling to stand up again. He turned. He stared right at Marinette, an angry smile playing on his lips. Then he stepped in and kicked Chat, hard, in the ribs.

“STOP!” somebody screamed, from behind Marinette.

She looked back over her shoulder to see Evillustrator standing on top of one of the tables, his elaborate makeup running down his face in streaks. With a jolt, she realized he was crying.

And then Copycat aimed a kick at Chat’s head.

Bubbler all but yelled into the mic, “Stoneheart! Little help here!”

Marinette turned desperately back to the ring, where Copycat was holding up Chat by the collar of his jumpsuit, speaking, it appeared, in his ear. He dropped him quickly, though, and delivered another swift kick to the stomach. Chat went motionless, head lolling with the force of the blow. Marinette found herself screaming his name.

But Stoneheart, blessedly gargantuan as he was, removed one whole set of ropes from the side of the ring, and grabbed both of Copycat’s arms and held them behind his back. Evillustrator bolted for Chat, jostling Marinette on his way by, and knelt beside him.

“Okay, folks, this fight got a little dirtier than we expected. I’m real sorry if that was too much for you, the regulars can tell you that these fights usually aren’t grudge matches,” Bubbler said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “We’ll open up the kitchen for snacks, if you want, and turn the music back up while we sort this out. Thanks, guys.”

For a moment, the ring was full of people, as Stoneheart dragged Copycat to a door that Marinette had never been through before, and Evillustrator and a hoard of other costumed fighters helped Chat up and walked him backstage.

The house lights went down around the ring, and the music picked back up. Luckily, most of the patrons took that as a signal to disperse, leaving Bubbler, Marinette, and Alya standing there alone.

“Why don’t you two go grab some water,” Bubbler suggested. 

Alya shook her head, “No. We’re going to see Chat.”

“Ladies, I get that you’re concerned, but-”

“We’re not asking. We’re telling,” Marinette said, her voice shaking, “Come on, Alya.”

Though Bubbler was protesting, Marinette stormed to the door that led backstage on wobbly legs. 

She felt like she had been the one getting beaten into the mats. Sobs threatened to overtake her, but they were drowned out by the sheer anger. How dare he do that to Chat Noir. How _dare_ he.

The small room backstage was a flurry of masked faces, most of which were contorted with rage. For a second, Marinette had the headspace to feel out of place without her own costume. 

“Drink this. You need water.”

She recognized Reflekta’s soft, low voice, and as people shuffled around she saw Chat propped up on one of the couches, eyes screwed shut. Reflekta was offering him an open bottle of water, which he took gingerly and sipped. 

“I’ll kill him. I’ll have Stoneheart snap his neck in the back alley. I’ll snap his neck myself, center ring, so everyone can see,” Evillustrator was ranting, pacing in front of the couch.

But Chat laughed, not his usual full-bodied one but the brittle wheezy laugh of someone who had just had the air knocked out of them. 

“You guys need to relax. This is how fights work. Somebody wins, somebody gets their ass kicked,” he said, putting the water bottle on the floor. 

“But he could’ve killed you!” Timebreaker protested.

“How many people’s limbs have you broken in the last month, huh?” replied Chat.

“It’s not the same!”

Evillustrator swiped a hand across his face, blurring the makeup even more, “This isn’t just one of us, this is you! We would have nothing without you, idiot!”

Darkblade, the bartender in his glinting knight’s costume, caught Marinette’s eye. He walked over to her and Alya, who were hovering, unsure what to do. 

“They’re really upset,” he said. 

“I am too,” Alya said, “But Chat has a point. People get beat up all the time here. What difference does it make?”

“Chat Noir has been losing a lot lately,” Darkblade said.

“So he’s going through a slump.”

“It’s more than that, though. We all have slumps, and this isn’t a regular slump for Chat. Last time he fought, his opponent KO’d him in just under a minute.”

“Was it another maniac like Copycat?” Marinette asked.

Darkblade shook his head, “The guy is a regular, a friend of mine. Name’s Numeric. He’s sparred with Chat a dozen times, but Chat just…”

“Gave up,” Alya finished.

“Yeah.”

“What are you guys gonna do about Copycat?” asked Marinette.

Darkblade’s smile was suitably dark as he replied, “We have a really good lawyer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally exploding with ideas and feelings about this fic. We're getting close to a little bit of magic. Miraculouses, perhaps???? Also, just a fair warning, I am a massive fan of one Chloe Bourgeois. She's getting a real OOC treatment for this fic, because she deserves it.  
> Besides that, I hope you guys are lovin' it. Leave me some comments!! See you next time, babies!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids! Sorry to leave you all hanging last time, what with the violence and the Chat and the sad. It'll be okay. Eventually. This chapter contains rapid plot advancement and our first look at a motha-fuckin Miraculous!!!

The greenroom emptied slowly as fighters went back out to prep for their own matches. Pharaoh had hurried in from the bar and prodded Chat Noir all over, checking for broken bones as Evillustrator worried over the both of them.

“Are you absolutely sure I can’t have him killed?” Evillustrator asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

“I think that would ruin our reputation here, bud, sorry,” Chat said. 

Alya dragged two folding chairs over for Marinette and herself to sit and wait. Though she was stoic and silent, Marinette could see that Alya had been really shaken by the fight, too. She was gripping the rim of her chair so hard that her knuckles were turning white.

Something Alya had told her way back when they first starting fighting, something about the fights being part of a sport and not actually dangerous, rattled around Marinette’s head. That definitely wasn’t true anymore. It probably had never been true.

Just as Pharaoh pronounced him medically sound (which was dubious because Pharaoh was definitely not a doctor or anything close), Chat caught sight of Marinette. 

“You picked a hell of a night to come out, princess,” Chat said.

“Princess?” someone – probably Timebreaker – snickered. 

Heads swiveled toward Marinette, curious, as Chat beckoned her over. Alya, half out of concern and half in a bid to get the attention off Marinette, beat her there.

“How you doin’, champ?” Alya asked.

He smiled wryly, “You people, I swear. Stop worrying about me.”

“You’re lying on the couch being fed grapes by your bartender.”

“…point taken,” Chat laughed, “But one good nap and I’ll be fine.”

“Uhh, no. One whole night’s sleep and plenty of fluids,” Pharaoh reprimanded.

“Okay, mom.”

“I would make an excellent mom,” Pharaoh muttered, standing up to leave Chat with his visitors. 

As soon as he was out of earshot, Alya knelt by Chat’s side and jabbed a finger into his ribs. Chat swatted her hand away.

“Nothing’s broken, I swear,” he said.

Marinette giggled, “Alya’s secretly a worrier.”

“I can see that,” Chat agreed.

“I only worry when it’s necessary!” said Alya.

Chat hauled himself up to lean against the arm of the couch, “Well, it’s not necessary right now, I promise.”

“That shitstain was way out of line,” Alya insisted, “Your friends are all furious! And for good reason…”

She continued on, but Marinette was nursing another train of thought. She tugged on one of Chat’s leathery cat ears absently as Alya fussed.

“You’re not falling for me, are you?” Chat asked Alya slyly, a devious twinkle in his eyes.

Alya exploded, “Are you kidding me?! _You?_ Falling for you? For a stupid fucking underground fighter who gets his teeth kicked in by his own evil twin?!”

She kept shouting louder and louder abuses as Chat laughed so hard that tears started streaming down his face.

“I’m teasing,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes. 

“Kitty-cat motherfucker with the dumbass belt for a tail thinks I have a crush on him. As if.”

“It looked like Copycat was whispering something to you,” said Marinette slowly, when Alya had settled down.

Chat nodded, “He was.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t understand it. He told me to watch my back, like I was being followed. He wasn’t angry, just…ready, like he was sent to find me.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, “That’s creepy.”

Chat glanced at her, and continued, “He said something about…the miraculous. And something about someone called Papillon.”

\--------------------

Marinette picked a bad day to go get coffee. 

A couple weeks had passed since the incident at Sous-Terre, and although Marinette spared a thought now and again for Chat, she had a killer schedule that didn’t leave her much time to worry, let alone to visit him. His wounds were surely healing by then, anyway, and if anything bad happened, the others from the club would tell her right away. Her time was better spent trying to stay alive in the fashion industry.

So, exhausted from a long day avoiding Nathalie, too impatient to wait for Alya to come home, and craving a quick sandwich and some caffeine, Marinette had walked down the street and around the corner to a small touristy café. She settled herself in a corner with her meal, determined to answer some email on her phone and unwind. Until the universe, what with its sick personal agenda against her, threw her a curve ball in the form of Adrien Agreste. 

The first thought that Marinette had was ‘zombie’. Adrien was wearing sweatpants and a rumpled button-down shirt, and his face was pink and puffy around the eyes like he had just been crying. He held a lit cigarette between his shaking fingers, taking a long draw from it as he approached the queue. 

Her heart aching at the sight of him, Marinette called out.

“Adrien!” _“Adrien!!”_

Someone else did, too.

Adrien turned, not toward Marinette, but the other way. A tall, thin girl, with a long platinum-blonde ponytail and a smile to beat the band, was waving furiously at him. And surprise of surprises, Adrien hurried over and hugged her tightly. 

“What’s this?” Marinette heard her ask, and Adrien guiltily stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on her table.

They spoke for a moment, as Marinette sipped at her coffee and watched with far too much interest. Who was this girl? Why was Adrien so happy to see her?

Just as Marinette was getting ready to make a hasty exit and avoid the awkwardness that was sure to ensue if Adrien caught sight of her, the two of them got back in line to order coffee. And then Adrien saw her.

“Marinette!” he said happily.

He approached her table, and Marinette quickly made sure she was smiling at him.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Marinette lied.

Adrien put his hands in his pockets, “I haven’t seen you in a while. What’s been going on with you lately? Anything g-”

“Adri-kins? I thought we were getting something to drink,” interrupted the girl, busting over to lean against Adrien’s shoulder possessively.

“In a second,” he replied.

Who was this? Things were moving very rapidly and Marinette was not quite sure what to do with that simpering blonde or the icy block of jealousy forming in her stomach at the sight of her.

Marinette blinked, “Um, I’m sorry, what-”

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Adrien shook his head, “Marinette, this is my friend Chloe Bourgeois. Chloe, this is Marinette.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose at Marinette, but said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Funny, Adrien’s never mentioned you,” Marinette replied, looking at him pointedly.

“Chloe’s family was living abroad in China for years. I haven’t seen her in a long time. We stayed in touch, though,” said Adrien.

“That’s right,” Chloe said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at Marinette’s table unabashedly, “So you’re Marinette. You’re prettier than I thought you’d be.”

Adrien made a face, “What kind of thing is that to say to someone, Chlo?!”

“Sorry. It’s true, though.”

“Thank you?” Marinette tugged her half-finished dinner closer to herself, searching for some polite conversation, “That’s a nice clip, Chloe.”

Chloe reached up with one dainty hand and touched the golden hair comb stuck into the base of her ponytail. It had a heavy enamel bumblebee as its decorative handle, catching the light in its bold yellow stripes.

“Thanks.”

“My dad designs stuff just like that, with animals and bugs,” Adrien said, “Did you-”

“It’s not his,” Chloe replied shortly.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t be.” 

Marinette was out of things to say, and apparently so were her uninvited guests. They sat there, marinating in the awkward silence of two old friends who wanted to talk and one new one who resolutely didn’t. The quiet was so consuming that Marinette could hear a car alarm go off in the distance, and then a second, and a third. 

And just when things couldn’t get any more awkward, Chloe tensed up visibly.

“I have to go,” she said suddenly.

“Now?” Adrien asked.

“Yes. I have a…thing. I have to go,” repeated Chloe. 

She turned briskly back to her table and grabbed a large handbag from underneath it, and was out the door before Adrien could say another word.

Marinette stared after her, “What was that about?” 

“Not sure,” said Adrien mildly.

“Is she always so…”

“Blunt? Aggressive? Yeah.”

“I was gonna say ‘awful’, but that works.”

Adrien shrugged, “Chloe’s been my friend for my whole life. And she’s actually kind of shy, once you get through all the loud and showy.”

“Doesn’t mean she has to act like that,” Marinette muttered.

“She’s difficult, I’ll give you that. But having her around again means my friend count is up to three and a half, and that’s a personal record.”

“Who’s the half?”

“Alya.”

Marinette laughed. That was true, at least. 

“I’ll buy you another coffee to make up for her,” Adrien offered.

And just as Marinette was about to say yes, her phone started vibrating. Alya was calling her. No, Alya was calling her after sending approximately thirteen texts, the most recent of which was in all caps demanding that Marinette call her back. She also had two missed calls from Evillustrator, which was twice as frightening, because he always texted and almost never called.

“Sorry, Adrien, I have to take this,” Marinette apologized, pulse quickening with worry.

“Are you going to stay?” he asked.

“Can’t!” she called, walking quickly toward the exit.

As soon as she was outside with some distance between her and Adrien, she answered her phone. There wasn’t any need to put it to her ear, though, because Alya was screaming loud enough for passersby to hear.

“MARINETTE I JUST GOT A CALL FROM EVILLUSTRATOR AND HE WAS CRYING SO I ASKED WHAT’S UP AND HE JUST-”

Marinette turned down the call volume and put the phone to her ear, listening. 

“Sous-Terre is closed, Mari. It’s closed.”

“There are nights that it’s closed, you know,” Marinette replied.

“But not tonight. Tonight is Friday. Why would they close on Friday?” Alya replied, her annoyance clear even over the phone.

“Was Chat there? Did Evillustrator say?”

“The place was locked. No cars. Nothing. So he texted Chat, and Chat just told him to go home.”

Marinette bit her lip. That wasn’t like Chat.

“Where are you now?” she asked Alya.

“Walking back home. Evillustrator called me while I was in class, first, and then like ten more times when I didn’t answer.”

“Me too. I’ll meet you on the corner.”

It only took moments for Alya to arrive, and in that time, Marinette completely forgot about Adrien and Chloe and their weird longtime friendship. Both girls took out their phones, and tried to contact their other fight club friends to get a read on what was happening to the club.

The panic was apparently spreading around their social circle very quickly, because nobody would answer their phones. Marinette was about to give up when Alya’s phone rang with an incoming call from Pharaoh. 

He agreed to meet them on the street outside their apartment (well, outside what he knew as Lady Wifi and Ladybug’s apartment) and update them on the growing catastrophe. And as Marinette and Alya waited on the sidewalk in costume, sun sinking over the rooftops, Pharaoh showed up in small, beat-up foreign car.

“I didn’t tell my baby sister I was coming to see you,” he said, by way of greeting, “So don’t tell her. She’ll kill me.”

“Fair enough,” Alya agreed.

“What’s wrong with Chat?” Marinette asked.

Pharaoh leaned against his car, “How much do you want to know?”

Two parts of Marinette, the part that loved Sous-Terre and the part that loved Chat Noir, wanted to know every single detail and theory and secret that Pharaoh could offer. The rest of her knew that Chat deserved his privacy more than anyone else.

“Why is the club closed?” she asked, finally.

“I knew you’d ask that,” Pharaoh winced.

“Why?” Alya echoed.

“We gotta take a few extra nights a week off, now, that’s all.”

“How many nights do you usually take off?” Marinette wondered.

He shrugged, “Mondays, usually? Sometimes Tuesday if it’s been slow. Never weekends.”

“So why tonight? Friday is the biggest night for you, I know it,” said Alya.

Pharaoh sighed, “Because we don’t have the cash.”

“What do you mean?” asked Marinette.

“We’re barely paying bills as it is.”

Alya scoffed, “Figures, with all the free drinks and prize checks you guys hand out. Admission is free and everything.”

“The club doesn’t run on that kind of income,” Pharaoh said.

“Then how…”

“Chat Noir has money, somehow,” he shrugged, “The kid throws all kinds of green at our bills and helps us make ends meet.”

Marinette was confused, “Seriously? How?”

“Hell if I know. Unless the kid’s actually like forty years old and has an amazing day job, it doesn’t make sense.”

“But is he okay?” Marinette asked. 

Pharaoh looked uncomfortable, “Define ‘okay’. He hasn’t fought in weeks, and apparently there’s a butterfly after his ass.”

Papillon, Marinette remembered. Someone named Papillon was after Chat.

“We heard about that,” she said, “Are they, like…a loan shark or something?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t seen Chat more than once a week since he lost that fight,” Pharaoh replied.

“He doesn’t come in to the club?” Alya asked.

“Nope.”

“But…he has to! He owns the place, right?”

“Not technically, no.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide, “I thought-”

Pharaoh laughed dourly, “What, you think there’s a lease floating around with the name ‘Chat Noir’ on it? Nah, the guy with the legal ownership and all that jazz is Darkblade.”

“Darkblade?” Alya repeated, incredulous, “Really?”

“I’ve worked at the club with him since before Chat got his claws into it. Lemme tell you, I’ve never seen a business get so popular so fast.”

Alya’s face softened, “You know, that does sound just like Chat. Sentimental fucker.”

“Throwing around cash like it’s nothing? Absolutely,” agreed Marinette, thinking of the first time she met him and the money he dumped on her.

“Why do you think the prize pools get up to hundreds of euros? You think the kids we get are putting in that kind of coin?” laughed Pharaoh.

“You’re telling me Chat does that? Himself?” Marinette asked.

“Ladybug, some of these fighters pay their rent with the money they win there. They’re starving artists, startup athletes…they need money and friendship and a guaranteed meal and this is way to get it all at once.”

For some reason, Marinette found herself thinking of Evillustrator, who slept on the couches in Sous-Terre regularly and who had bawled when Chat was hurt. ‘We’d have nothing without you’, he had yelled at Chat. Maybe that was really, literally true. 

Marinette blinked, “So, like…Chat is all but handing his friends money and security on a silver platter, and none of them even know it.”

“I think some might suspect him, but yeah.”

“Why on Earth would he do that?” Alya wondered.

“Oh, that one’s easy,” Pharaoh said, smiling softly, “He cares. He cares so fucking much that he won’t even show his face at the club if he doesn’t think he’s doing enough.”

“But it sounds like he’s doing so much more than he has to,” said Marinette. 

“I know that, and you know that. But Chat? He would fix the world if he could, and he’s trying his damnedest to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh my baby Chloe!! I'm sorry but if you guys hate her and/or aren't into her getting a hero arc, the rest of the fic is gonna disappoint you. Just a warning. But anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed it!!!  
> We've been on this journey together for almost two months now! Leave me some nice comments, it makes me squeal out loud in a really embarrassing way. Or check me out on tumblr at ladybug-et-chatnoir.tumblr.com okay byeee


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that scene from Pokemon where Ash is all, "You have the same photo as that girl...you must be...a photographer!" when the dude is OBVIOUSLY the girl's father? That's the first half of this chapter. And you know how the song "Loathing" from Wicked is so affectionate and cheery that it kinda sounds like a love song despite the word 'loathing'? That's the last half. I love it.  
> This week, you can expect some Ladrien awkardness, a couple of girls doing the lowkey love/hate flirting, and a lot of Chloe Bourgeois. Enjoy!

Pharaoh left Marinette with more questions than answers. 

He had taken his leave moments before, driving away in that dirty car, and Alya had gone back up to the apartment to do some schoolwork. Marinette should have done the same, but there was so much to think about. 

She paced up and down the street, still dressed as Ladybug, desperate for something to click into place in her mind.

Chat Noir was filthy rich and he Secret Santa’d all his friends into financial and physical security on a regular basis. He didn’t own Sous-Terre, though, that was Darkblade in his civilian form. Chat had only been part of the club for a short time. But the success, the dozens of regular fighters and hundreds of patrons…it was all Chat’s doing?

None of it made any sense at all.

Of course, Marinette was an underground fighter with an insect alter-ego learning dark secrets about another underground fighter named Black Cat who was also her sometimes love interest. Sense really wasn’t too plentiful.

Sleep, she decided, was the answer. She had work at an ungodly hour of morning, and it was about time she got a full night’s sleep. Alya would probably make coffee, the fans in the apartment would be on, making her room cool and quiet and deliciously coffee-scented…it was a perfect plan for an early night in.

Running into Adrien, however, wasn’t part of the plan.

Because she really ran into him. In her hurry to get back to her house as fast as possible, before her neighbors noticed the weird girl in a mask outside, Marinette slammed into a very distracted Adrien Agreste and fell hard on her ass.

She looked up at him expectantly, but he just puffed on a fresh cigarette.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry!” he said, eyes still on his phone, “Lemme help!”

And then he looked down at her, and the strangest blush crept over his cheeks. Adrien looked…ruffled. Embarrassed. It didn’t help that his face was still the round-cheeked post-crying pink that it had been hours before.

He stood there, staring goofily at Marinette while she ogled back, until he seemed to gather himself and offered her a hand.

“Thanks,” she said carefully, aware that she, Ladybug, was not supposed to know him.

“No problem.”

Adrien’s eyes roamed over her spotted outfit. She could feel his gaze, heavy and pensive, and she wanted to shy away.

“Can I ask you something?” he blurted.

This was not the composed Adrien Agreste who cracked jokes and made her stutter with his smirk and his stupid cool hair. He wasn’t meeting her eye, and when she finally did catch his glance, he blushed even deeper. 

“My name’s Adrien, by the way,” he added.

“You can call me Ladybug,” Marinette said.

“I know.”

She froze, “What do you mean, you know?”

“I’ve seen you before,” he said, “Everyone who knows anything about underground fighting knows who you are.”

“And you know all about fighting, huh?” she asked, surprising herself with her own smoothness.

Adrien nodded, “But that’s not what I wanna ask.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Did you design your own outfit?”

Marinette had never liked the phrase ‘feeling like the ground was torn out from under her’. It was overused and trite and cliché, and it didn’t even mean anything. But that was exactly how she felt. Everything was spinning, and she could practically feel the earth zooming away from her.

“Uh…why…why do you ask?” she asked faintly.

“I’ve seen sketches of that outfit somewhere before, is all. My dad’s a fashion designer and your exact outfit came in as a design portfolio.”

“Huh.”

Adrien’s face was open and eager, “So, like…are you into fashion?” 

“Maybe,” Marinette admitted. 

“I have a friend who loves fashion, too,” he said thoughtfully.

For one wonderful second, Marinette knew he was talking about her. Courage welled from under her disguise.

“Oh yeah?” she smirked, “A friend or a _friend_?”

“Just a friend. She never talks about it, but I noticed pretty fast. Maybe you’re friends with her, too.”

Adrien’s answer was easy and sincere, but Marinette was crestfallen. Her first shameful thought was that she has just been friendzoned to her face by a boy she had adored since the first moment she saw him. Her second thought was that she if nothing else, knew where she stood in Adrien’s mind, and that was progress. 

But he was still looking at her with earnest green eyes, and in that moment, the blurry line between confident, beloved Ladybug and meek human disaster Marinette made itself crystal fucking clear. 

“I,” Marinette said, “Didn’t design this outfit.”

Adrien grinned, “No, because you hired my friend Marinette to do it for you!”

Jesus Christ almighty, he was really that clueless. Anyone who had ever seen a Batman movie would have put two and two together and realized coincidences like that did not happen, and that Marinette was Ladybug. But noooo, Adrien had to be the Ash fucking Ketchum of taking hints. Marinette just stared at him, mind boggled.

“Shit, if Marinette is keeping it a secret that she knows you…” 

“You’ll have to talk to her and find out,” Marinette said through a clenched smile, “I do have to go, though.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Bye, Adrien.”

“Bye.”

Adrien walked calmly down the street, continuing on the way he had been going. Marinette waited until he was out of her sight, and then bolted inside her apartment building. 

Luckily, she didn’t see anyone else as she made her way up to her front door. She went inside to find that Alya had indeed made coffee, the rich scent of it washing over her. Alya was sat on the sofa, laptop balanced across her legs. 

She looked up at Marinette expectantly, “What kept you?”

Marinette considered it. She had no idea how to explain what had happened. She shrugged at Alya and went back to her room.

\--------------------

Journalism classes at Alya’s university were held inside a repurposed historical house on a wide boulevard lined with small cafes and shops. So Marinette never minded when she had to wait for her best friend after class. The shopping was great.

That particular afternoon, several days after her embarrassing run-in with Adrien, Marinette found herself face-to-face with a full color advertisement outside one of the tiny boutiques. 

It featured a towering woman in a blazing blue and purple ground-skimming dress hemmed in feathers, with a brooch at the high collar. A pale grey letter G at the corner of the advertisement confirmed it as a Gabriel original. It was the peacock dress design that Marinette had edited for Gabriel Agreste, fixed in all the ways she had recommended.

Marinette gawked. The piece was silk at the bodice, and had long flowing layers of challis as the skirt. The feathers hung perfectly. The train had been shortened. Gabriel Agreste liked her design changes so much that they ended up on an enormous window ad. 

And then, as if things couldn’t get more awkward, a slightly sarcastic yell came across the courtyard, startling Marinette out of her wits.  
“Well, if it isn’t my best pal, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

Cringing inwardly, Marinette turned to see Chloe Bourgeois sitting at an outdoor table in front of Alya’s building. She had a fashion magazine obstructing half of her face, and big white sunglasses covering the rest.

She beckoned to Marinette with one hand, “I don’t bite. Come sit.”

Against her better judgment, Marinette went.

“How do you know my last name?” Marinette asked, dropping exhaustedly into a chair.

“You think Adrien hasn’t told me by now?” 

“Point taken. What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl do some reading in a public place?”

Marinette glanced at the cover of the magazine, “My best friend has an article in that issue.”

“Small world,” Chloe pushed her oversized sunglasses up on top of her head, “Jesus, you look awful.”

“Oh, thanks. Just what I wanted to hear,” grumbled Marinette.

“You not sleeping well? You’re certainly not moisturizing.”

“Jeez, you sure know how to woo a girl.”

“Trust me, if I was trying to woo you, you would know,” Chloe smirked.

Flirting? All the teasing strategies in the world were before her, and she chose flirting?! Marinette did not understand Chloe Bourgeois. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Marinette replied.

Chloe looked satisfied as she quipped, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“You don’t wanna hear me complain.”

“Sure I do.”

“No way.”

“I know we aren’t exactly sleepover buddies, but you can tell me what’s wrong,” Chloe said, tapping on her chest with one manicured pointer finger, “It might be cold and shriveled, but I do have a heart in here.”

Marinette stared at her for a second. For someone so blunt, Chloe’s motives were unclear. She was obviously not Marinette’s biggest fan. But there she sat, idly fiddling with that bumblebee hair comb and waiting with an expression of polite interest to hear Marinette’s life story. Well, she had asked, and she was gonna get it.

“I’m a design intern at Agreste Fashion. Only, whoops, I’m in love with Gabriel Agreste’s son. Gabriel thinks I’m conspiring with Adrien and trying to fuck over his family. And all of my friends have suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth.”

Chloe sat back, “That is…a lot of information to take in. Wow.”

“You wanted to know.”

“Sure did. You know, I’m in fashion, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I do tailoring and cleanup work. Less glamorous than you design demons, but fashion nonetheless.” 

Marinette looked sidelong at her, “Why not join Agreste Fashion? I bet it’d be a cinch for you, since you’re a family friend or whatever.”

“Mostly because Gabriel Agreste is the worst. The literal worst. Sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

“What about Adrien, then?” Marinette wondered, thinking of the way that he unwittingly helped to hire her.

“I had a crush on Adrien for a lotta years, Marinette. I didn’t see any use playing up that emotional connection to get a job. Not that you have any similar restraint,” Chloe smirked.

Ouch. That was unnecessary.

“I didn’t ask him to help me,” Marinette snapped.

“But he did anyway,” Chloe replied, “Interesting. I wonder what that means.”

Marinette shrugged, “He’s made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in me.”

“And you’re in love with him,” Chloe repeated.

“Did I say that?” 

“About two minutes ago, yeah.”

“It doesn’t matter if I do. I can’t force him to like me.”

“No you cannot. But c’mon, you gotta have more people barking up your tree, a pretty cherry blossom like you.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, “Oh, yeah, funny joke. I’m Chinese, I get it.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that. Chinese, huh?” Chloe said mildly, looking at Marinette with a renewed interest, “You keep getting more and more mysterious, Marinette.”

Chloe had lived in China with her family, Marinette remembered. But it wasn’t exactly a mystery that Marinette was half-Chinese. In fact, it was pretty damn obvious. Whatever Chloe was trying to say was going right over her head.

“I don’t understand you,” Marinette said, finally.

“That’s okay. I’m babbling.”

“Why?”

Chloe cocked an eyebrow, “Would you rather I pushed you down on the playground? Pulled your pigtails? I don’t know how to talk to girls.” 

“I’m having a difficult enough time without adding a sexuality crisis to the mix!” Marinette cried.

Suddenly serious, Chloe slid her sunglasses back into place, hiding her bright blue eyes.

“Sorry, I’ll stop teasing you,” she said, “But don’t you feel better now?”

Damn it. Fuck. She was right. The crushing weight of carrying secrets and worries was a little bit less overwhelming. 

“What are you really doing here?” Marinette asked.

“I was supposed to meet Adrien for coffee, since I had to bail last time.”

“He hasn’t showed?”

Chloe shook her head, “He’s always been spacey, but he hasn’t texted or anything. Where does that kid get to?!”

“Rue St. Denis, for all I know,” Marinette muttered.

And even though Marinette was still iffy on whether or not the girl had settings beyond ‘annoying’ and ‘extra annoying’, Chloe went a shocking ghostly pale that made her contoured cheekbones look ridiculously dark.

“Please tell me he doesn’t go to Sous-Terre.” 

Marinette had to catch herself before she fell right the fuck out of her seat, “What do you know about Sous-Terre?”

“What do you know about Sous-Terre?”

“I asked first!”

“A friend of mine in…law enforcement…has been talking about that place recently,” Chloe said.

“I’ve gotten drinks there with friends before,” Marinette replied.

Chloe looked bothered, “Maybe you should rethink that.”

“Since when do you control what I do?” 

“Hey, just a hunch I have. Whatever’s going on there isn’t good, princess.”

Marinette recoiled. Only Chat called her ‘princess’. It sounded so scathing and wrong coming from Chloe.

“Adrien isn’t exactly the world’s most law-abiding citizen, Chloe.”

“What…what are you talking about?” 

“You know the guy better than I do,” Marinette said.

What was this girl’s problem? She was Adrien’s childhood friend. If he had always been the same kind of punk-ass drug-dealing problem child, Chloe would definitely know. And as far as Marinette and Nino and Alya and all of their other classmates knew, Adrien had always been that way.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Adrien?!” Chloe’s voice was wavering.

Unless he hadn’t.

Marinette leaned across the table, “Remember how he was smoking a cigarette when we saw him the other day?”

“Yeah? So? Everyone in France smokes. Adrien just does it to piss off Gabriel.” 

“That’s the legal tip of the Adrien iceberg.”

“What does that mean?”

Marinette fidgeted, “According to everyone from high school, tobacco is the tamest thing that Adrien Agreste smokes, how about that?” 

Chloe’s hand bunched into a fist, crunching the magazine she still held, “Fuck. Fuck! I knew this would happen.”

“Chloe, when did you move to China?” Marinette asked, suddenly starting to understand.

“When I was fourteen.”

“So Adrien would have been…”

“Fourteen. I’m a couple months older.” 

“Makes sense,” Marinette murmured.

Nino had mentioned meeting Adrien for the first time at school, right around that time. He had already been an angsty piece of shit then.

“What the hell happened when Adrien was fourteen?” she wondered.

Chloe finished crumpling up the magazine into a ball, “For someone who claims to be in love with Adrien, you don’t know much about him.” 

“Did something happen?”

“His mother left.”

Marinette blinked, “Excuse me?”

“Just packed up and left,” Chloe nodded, “I loved Aurelie Agreste more than my own damn mother. But she disappeared right after I moved. Vanished. My dad told me and I cried for days. Adrien stopped answering my calls and didn’t speak to me again for months.”

“And then Adrien started all of the drugs and vandalism and running away from home and shit,” Marinette said, “Why?”

Chloe’s voice was strangled with fury as she spat, “Because once his wife left, Gabriel shut out the whole world. As far as he’s concerned, Adrien doesn’t even exist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make up a name for Adrien's mother because as far as I know, she doesn't have one in canon yet. I chose Aurelie (OR-ell-ee) because it means "golden". Like...my sunshine cat son. Golden. Yep.  
> Your comments have been literally off the wall. Like, so much love pouring in. This little fic is the apple of my eye and I'm so delighted that you guys like it, too, so thank you all for that. Keep leaving me lovely comments!! I love you!! See you next week!!!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: yo girl almost didn't update today. I saw Panic! at the Disco last night, and then ate a lot of cheesecake, so I really wasn't feeling up to editing and stuff. But, sweet sweet irony, the first song they played was Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time, and I thought of you guys. Thus, your chapter is on time after all! Because Panic! unintentionally guilted me into it. You're welcome.  
> Expect a rather miraculous fashion line and butterflies. So many butterflies.

For the second time in two months, Marinette found herself knocking on the heavy carved door that led to Gabriel Agreste’s office. She wasn’t any less nervous this time, though.

It was the end of a long workday. She had been carefully going over lineart for one of the head designers in thick pencil when her coworker Elise burst in and announced that Gabriel wanted to see her. There were a number of reasons why he would want that. Marinette assumed he had found out about all the times she had seen Adrien, and that she was going to be fired at long last.

So imagine her surprise when Gabriel opened the office door for her himself, a simpering smile on his face.

“Ah, Miss Dupain-Cheng! Come in.”

“Uh, thank you, sir.”

Marinette hurried inside and stood stiffly by the massive desk. Gabriel closed the door behind her, wandering leisurely back toward her.

“I assume you’ve seen my latest piece,” he said.

She blinked.

“The Peacock,” Gabriel hummed, “Your design input was invaluable. Thank you.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah, I saw it.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve put you to any trouble, what with the less-than-friendly welcome last time.”

Marinette wondered briefly if she had even woken up that morning, because that conversation seemed suspiciously like a fever dream. What was he trying to do? 

“No, it’s fine,” she said quickly.

“I insist on doing something to make it up to you,” Gabriel said, voice silky.

“Okay…”

God, was he going to kill her? It kinda seemed like he was going to kill her. 

“I have been searching for one last piece for my new collection,” he explained, rifling through some papers on his desk.

“Okay,” Marinette repeated.

Gabriel handed her a sheet of paper, “This design fits the theme perfectly. If you’re willing, it can be the final piece of the spring line.”

Marinette looked down at the paper. And back up at Gabriel. And back down at the paper. 

It was her Ladybug outfit. 

“This? You want…this?” she choked.

“If you’re willing,” he repeated.

“What kind of theme is it?!”

“Here.”

He pushed the whole stack of paper at her carelessly. Marinette drew closer to the desk, and skeptically picked up a handful of sketches, as Gabriel watched her with a smug, satisfied expression on his sharp face.

The first sketch was a loose, draped t-shirt dress in a bright golden orange, with a thick white panel like the tummy of a plush animal down the center, paired with a matching orange beanie with a fox face on it and a pendant shaped like the whorl of a fox’s tail. 

The second sketch was a lightweight suit jacket and slacks in a vibrant dark green, a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses, and a heavy jade-colored bracelet molded like a turtle’s shell.

The third, a purple velveteen smoking jacket and an ascot held together by a delicate tie slide with silvery butterfly wings. 

The fourth, a tight black sleeveless crop top and a yellow-and-black striped skater skirt with a chunky hair clip shaped like a bee, eerily reminiscent of Chloe Bourgeois’ accessory of choice.

The fifth, the peacock dress.

The sixth made Marinette sit down hard in a chair and look over it again. 

The sixth sketch was an outfit that she had definitely seen before. A pair of black jogger sweatpants, and a black tank top emblazoned with a neon green paw print. A thick-cut silver ring and a black baseball cap with pointed cat ears on the top completed the look. 

“What do you think?” Gabriel asked.

Marinette forced a laugh, “I think the ladybug outfit fits in nicely with the…ah…animal theme. But my work isn’t nearly good enough to-”

“Nonsense. The design is almost perfect.”

She just sat there for a second, mouth ajar, trying to think of a decent response.

“You’ll be compensated adequately, I assure you,” Gabriel added. 

“That’s very kind, but-”

“Can I count you in, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” 

Suddenly, Chat Noir’s voice, telling her that her boss could go fuck himself, filled Marinette’s head. She set her jaw and looked Gabriel in the eye.

“I’m going to need some time to think about it, sir. Can I get back to you in a couple days?” 

Gabriel looked stricken for a split-second, before he recovered his easy arrogance.

“Of course,” he said, “Selling your first design to a top company must be an endless moral quandary. But know that I insist on having it in my collection. Your participation would be nothing short of miraculous.”

“Noted,” Marinette said weakly.

“You may take your leave if you wish.”

“Yes, sir.” 

So Marinette left. She took the elevator in silence, mulling over the conversation, trying desperately to make sense of some part of it. 

The insistence to have her design was absolutely puzzling. If Gabriel wanted something with ladybug spots on it for his weird animal collection, he could design something himself. Or have one of the actual fashion designers on his staff do it. She was an intern. She was supposed to fix sketches and sort buttons, not sell designs to the CEO. 

But he had said that he wanted to make up for questioning her some weeks ago. Gabriel didn’t seem like the kind of guy to feel remorse of any kind. He had something up his sleeve, but Marinette couldn’t for the life of her understand what. The man was an enigma in a white suit jacket and ugly red dress pants.

For what was definitely the first time ever, Marinette made it outside to see Alya sitting on a bench waiting for her. She supposed that her best friend was still feeling guilty for the time she had inadvertently made Marinette have a deep talk with Chloe earlier that week. 

“Hey, honey, how was work?” Alya smirked.

Marinette slung an arm around her, “I am ready to curl up in bed and not move an inch for twelve hours.”

“That bad?”

“I had another meeting with Gabriel.”

“Oh, such fun. What did that knockoff Malibu Barbie want this time?”

Marinette frowned, “Not what I expected.”

She explained the strange conversation to Alya as they walked toward home. As she spoke, Alya’s expression grew more and more confused.

“I just don’t understand why he’s stopped wanting me to spy on his son so suddenly,” Marinette said, finally, “He was so adamant before. He wouldn’t change his mind like that.”

“Unless…” Alya said slowly, “Unless Gabriel already knows dirt on Adrien, and he’s trying to make it up to you for being such a dickwad so that you keep quiet about it.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because you could sue his ass. Or quit. And he really wants that ladybug design, girl.” 

“You think he knows what Adrien has been doing all this time?”

Alya shrugged, “He must. That’s what he wanted from you, after all, there’s no other explanation.”

“I guess.”

“I’m kind of curious about Adrien’s MO, myself. It’s not like anyone else we know keeps tabs on him.”

And suddenly, Marinette’s face paled so much that she could see her freckles standing out in the tiny reflection in Alya’s glasses. 

“I know why Gabriel knows,” she said.

“Mm?

“It’s fucking Chloe! It must be. No one else knows anything about Adrien or has connections to his dad.”

“Shit on a stick, you’re probably right,” Alya said, crossing her arms. 

Marinette, to put it lightly, was furious. Not only was Chloe Bourgeois a pain in the ass, she might have just thrown her so-called childhood friend under the bus to…score some kind of favor with Gabriel, or something. She had the nerve to double-cross both Adrien and Marinette…God, Marinette was seeing red just thinking about it.

“I bet she – she followed him or something, after I talked to her. I bet she told Gabriel everything,” Marinette muttered. 

Alya grabbed Marinette’s shoulder, “You know what that means.”

“What?”

“You told Chloe that Adrien might hang out at Sous-Terre. But…you were just joking,” Alya explained.

“She’s the one who mentioned the club.”

“Still. You talked about it, right?”

Marinette nodded, “Yeah. So?”

“So, if Chloe only knew what you told her…and you guys mentioned Sous-Terre but she took it seriously…and Gabriel presumably has _true_ information from Chloe because he’s happy with it…”

“Then I was _right_ and Adrien hangs out at _Sous-Terre_ ,” Marinette finished, horrified.

Alya smiled darkly, “I wonder if we know him.”

\--------------------

Butterflies weren’t scary. That’s what Marinette had always thought. 

Until they invaded Sous-Terre.

Several more days had passed since Marinette’s latest run-in with Gabriel Agreste. She and Alya, as Ladybug and Lady Wifi, had gone to the fight club on Bubbler’s request to help emcee a special fight between Dislocoeur and Timebreaker. 

Bubbler explained to her that the event was not a normal sort of fight. Rather, it was equal parts rashness and audience request. Apparently Timebreaker claimed so often that she could kick anyone’s ass that Dislocoeur, a red-and-black-suited fighter who was approximately three times her size, publicly challenged her to a fight to prove it, to the delight of a crowd of fans. And Bubbler, though desperate to avoid another disaster, received so many demands from patrons to hold the fight that he was forced to do it. 

Marinette was with Stoneheart, Bubbler, and Alya, getting fitted for a button mic to fit around her mask, when the butterflies came.

They were white butterflies, each one tiny and unassuming, but there were dozens of them. Hundreds, even, pouring in the open front door and swirling around the club. The fluttering of their wings reflected the dim fluorescent lighting in scaly, flashing patterns that captivated Marinette with their strangeness.

There wouldn’t have been a problem, except that Stoneheart, as club gossip went, was deathly afraid of butterflies. And apparently the gossip was correct. The behemoth bouncer took one look at the cloud of them and ran for it, knocking down everything and everyone in his way. 

A large enough group of any insect could incite a panic, Marinette reasoned. That was why people were scrambling all over the place, yelling and tripping over each other in their panic to get away from the certain death that was benign butterflies. 

Pharaoh, Team Mom Extraordinaire, spoke over the club’s surround-sound, “Alright, everyone, calm down! Calm down! Someone’s gonna get hurt!”

Alya grabbed Marinette’s arm, “C’mon!”

Bubbler was leading them up into the ring, above the melee that was the club floor. They watched as multicolored crowds ran, confused, for cover. Shrieks of panic echoed around the high-ceilinged warehouse, disoriented people and butterflies mingling and crashing together.

Then, just as abruptly as the insects had arrived, they left, flying neatly out the door in a busy rustling of tiny white wings. 

The house lights went up. All of the tables and chairs around the bar had been upended, and people were huddled in pockets all over the floor. It looked like something much more dangerous than butterflies had been through. A stampede of elephants, maybe. Or a tornado.

“It’s safe to come out now,” came Pharaoh’s voice, thoroughly tired and annoyed, “A hand cleaning up, if you please.”

And sheepish fighters and club patrons started reassembling the place. Alya leapt down, and set off across the club, with Marinette and Bubbler at her heels.

“Someone might be hurt from all the chaos,” she explained, weaving them around fallen furniture.

The last person Marinette was expecting to find was the very first person who caught her eye. Chat Noir knelt between two felled tables, his back to his friends as they approached.

He was helping up a tiny old man who clutched a wooden box in his arms. The man was staring up at Chat with widened eyes, and when he set those eyes on Marinette, he dropped the box and let it clatter to the floor. 

“How?” the old man whispered.

He reached out and cupped Chat’s face with one hand. Chat placed his own hand over the man’s in concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

But the man just dropped his hand and turned to Marinette. 

“Both of you…it’s true. But…I don’t understand…” the man said.

Marinette bent down and picked up the box, offering it to the man. He took it, his eyes tracing the spotted mask on her face, the tip of his goatee quivering with excitement. Chat was looking at her with a similar expression of wonder.

“What’s your name, sir?” Chat asked. 

The old man seemed to come back to himself. He shook his head slightly, and smiled up at Chat. 

“Not important.”

“…Ooookay,” Chat ceded.

“This could’ve been far worse,” the man said, sincerely, “These were not akuma.”

“That’s…good?” 

The smile on the man’s face grew impossibly brighter, “Yes, Chat Noir, that’s good.” 

Chat blinked at him, “How did you know…”

“Dude, it’s not that difficult,” Bubbler said.

The man looked slowly around the half-circle of Marinette and her friends. He gazed at her with a strange sort of satisfaction, and turned around to amble back into the crowd.

“That was fuckin’ weird,” said Alya. 

“Speaking of fuckin’ weird, hey, dude, long time no see,” Bubbler said, smacking Chat lightly on the shoulder.

“Where have you been?” Marinette asked.

Chat grinned at her, “What, worried about me, Bugaboo?”

That smug little cat and his ridiculous nicknames. Marinette would show him. She matched his smirk, leaning in closer to him.

“Well, without you around, there’s no one else to _bug_ me.”

The expression on Chat’s face was nothing short of rapturous as he replied, dazed, “My lady, anyone ever told you that you’re _purr_ -fect?” 

“Ugh, I take it back, never speak to me again,” Marinette said, sticking out her tongue.

Inside, though, she was delighted. And Chat must have noticed, since he knelt back down and took her hand playfully.

“Oh, come on!” Chat protested, “I’m not even _kitten_! You’re _paw_ -sitively amazing! _Claw_ -some, even.”

Marinette just winked at him, “I’m _litter_ -ally going to kick your ass if you don’t stop creeping _meow_ t!”

Chat stood up slowly. He turned to Bubbler, who was wearing a half-amused, half-appalled expression. 

“I think I’m in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have zero fashion experience so I had to literally Google fashion terms when I was designing all those outfits for Gabriel's line. But beyond that, there is soooo much happening now, huh? I'm slightly intimidated by what I've created, not gonna lie.  
> Ah well. Leave me some lovely comments, babies, they keep me goin! And don't forget to thank Panic! at the Disco for getting my ass in gear this week :P Love you guys!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I'M SO SORRY I MISSED A WEEK!! See, I was trying to decide if I needed to split the story into two parts. Like, have a separate sequel now that we have Miraculous holders and such. But I think it's better to just cram it all in here, even though that means this fic is gonna get a lot longer than I intended.  
> I literally have no excuse for how short and how jam-packed with fluffy nonsense this chapter is, though. I think I was craving human touch.

“We’ve always known you were in love with Ladybug. That’s not a surprise,” said Alya dryly, “Though I personally would’ve chosen a better way to confess.”

“He’s not in love with me,” Marinette countered.

Chat glanced between them, “I’m pretty sure that’s up to m-”

“Shut up,” Alya interrupted. 

“Okay.”

Marinette smiled at Chat, an unspoken reassurance in her eyes, reaching up to tweak one of his ears affectionately. 

“So, you gonna tell me where you’ve been?” 

“It’s not worth your time, my lady,” he replied. 

“I haven’t seen you in weeks! I thought you’d moved on to harass some other bug,” Marinette said, pressing one hand to her forehead dramatically.

“Moved on to who?! I couldn’t do better.”

Bubbler smirked, “You two can flirt or whatever, okay? But I wanna get waaaaaasted.” 

“Seriously? You’re emceeing tonight,” Chat reprimanded. 

“Not after that butterfly shit, nuh-uh.”

“Oh, we’re canceling the fight, now?” 

“Chat. Buddy. Bro. Broski. Brotein shake. Lemme get wrecked just, like, once this month. Please,” Bubbler pleaded.

Alya rolled her eyes, “I’ll babysit.”

“You’re a goddess,” Chat said, thanking her with a low-sweeping dramatic bow.

“Don’t start with me,” Alya replied.

“I’m being nice!”

“I swear to God I’ll have you neutered.”

“You already threatened that once! No repeats on threats!”

Alya sent Marinette a murderous glance. Then she slung one arm around Bubbler and hauled him away in the direction of the bar, muttering under her breath about ‘idiot cat’ and ‘bad choices’ and ‘never coming back’. 

“I love you!” Chat singsonged after her.

Alya jabbed up her middle finger at him. 

Chat turned to Marinette with such an expression of cat-that-got-the-canary satisfaction that Marinette couldn’t help but grin back. 

“You shouldn’t bait her. She’ll knock you out and tie you to the train tracks like an old-timey villain,” Marinette said. 

“You’d rescue me,” Chat replied, turning his smile up to the megawatt level. 

Marinette put a hand on her hip, “You think so?” 

“I know so.”

“How forward of you.”

“My lady, you’re just so _cat_ -tivating. I can’t help it.”

Marinette laughed softly, “I did miss you, you know.”

“I know, I know, everyone did,” said Chat, nodding toward the bar where costumed patrons stood in rainbow masses.

“Yeah, but…” Marinette swallowed, suddenly shy, “I missed you more.”

“Yeah?”

Chat took a step forward, pressing himself close so that Marinette had to tip her head back meet his eyes. His fingers brushed at her side gently, hard-tipped claws against the bare expanse of her skin. So Marinette let one hand start a leisurely crawl up the zipper running the length of Chat’s torso. Everything was black leather and green eyes and a surprising whiff of Annick Goutal cologne (which, at 1300 euro per bottle, was impressive to say the least), and Marinette was content to let it stay that way.

They probably would’ve starting making out, and it would’ve been goddamn fantastic, but all of a sudden Marinette’s field of vision was obscured by a wave of platinum blonde. 

“The fuck-”

“OH MY GOD. I’m sooo sorry!” a girl’s voice squealed. 

Someone had…fallen accidentally? Run, on purpose? Slammed, one way or another, into Marinette, knocking her away from Chat. Marinette brushed blonde out of her eyes as the girl took a couple clumsy steps back, her long ponytail retreating from its assault. 

“Are you okay?” Chat asked the girl, one hand covering his mouth as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter.

That traitor. Marinette glared at him.

“I’m fine!” the girl replied, “I really am sorry, Ladybug!”

Chat perked up immediately when the girl said that. 

“You a fan of hers?” he asked her. 

“Wha – oh, I just saw the outfit and I-”

“Right, right.”

The girl giggled, “It’s not much of a stretch.”

Marinette shook her head slightly in an unhelpful attempt to clear her thoughts, and took her first good look at the girl as she made smalltalk with Chat.

She was taller than Marinette, and rail-thin like a runway model, with perfectly coiffed hair and manicured nails. But those things weren’t as interesting as the fact that she was also in costume.

The girl wore a skintight yellow bodysuit that had one thick, horizontal black stripe across the chest and several smaller ones tapering into the waist. Black gloves ran to her elbows, and the legs of the suit were black from her thighs down to her covered feet. Around her neck and down her shoulders to the collarbone ran a layer of downy yellow fuzz. Her icy blue eyes glinted from behind a yellow mask with matching black stripes.

In short, she looked like a gigantic bumblebee, fluffy and striped and enthusiastic as all hell. The only thing missing were antennae. 

“That was weird, huh? The butterflies,” the girl said brightly. 

“I guess,” Marinette agreed grudgingly.

“But I suppose we’re not short of bugs here, huh?” she joked, gesturing between Marinette and herself.

“I guess,” repeated Marinette. 

“Has that, uh,” the girl fidgeted, “has that happened before?”

Chat laughed, “Butterflies in my club? Never.”

The girl blinked, “Your club?”

“Who are you?” Marinette interrupted.

“Call me Queen Bee.”

Well, that was a name. This girl already seemed like a handful. Marinette glanced away, searching desperately for Alya in the crowds, ready for a handy escape route.

“Nice to meet you,” Chat said cordially. 

“Likewise,” Queen Bee replied, “You are, like, really cute.”

Oh, great. She was already flirting with Chat, too. 

But then Chat whined, “I already have enough competition!”

Marinette’s gaze snapped back to the people in front of her. Chat had his arms crossed in a childish pout, and Queen Bee was smirking appreciatively…not at Chat…but at her.  
“Oh.”  
Queen Bee snorted, “Sorry. I dunno what it is about the outfit, but with a mask on, everything just kinda pours out.” 

“Right?!” Chat agreed.

“It’s so weird!”

Marinette made a move to edge away from that nonsense and find Alya, but somehow Chat read her mind. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close beside him without missing a beat, effectively ruining any chances of a hasty retreat.

She didn’t understand why he had to get buddy-buddy with every new pretty girl who looked at him twice, anyway. 

“So, Bee,” he said, shortening the girl’s pseudonym smoothly, “Do you come here a lot? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Nah, tonight’s my first time.”

“Hell of a night to come out,” Marinette murmured. 

“You got that right,” Bee laughed. 

“Yeah.”

A flutter of emotion that Marinette couldn’t quite place crossed over Queen Bee’s face. Her hand dipped down to touch a small yellow-and-black spiral patterned bag slung at her hip. 

“I’m sorry I interrupted you guys,” she said, grinning guiltily. 

“It’s okay,” Marinette replied, only half-salty. 

“Keep doing what you were doing,” Bee winked, “I’ll see you around.”

She turned on her heel and strode away, tossing a wave over her shoulder.

“Don’t _bee_ a stranger!” Chat called. 

Queen Bee didn’t turn back, but Marinette could hear her groan from across the crowded room, “Oh my God, seriously?!” 

“Do you ever tone it down?” Marinette asked Chat idly, staring after their new friend. 

“Ladybug, I’m insulted that you even have to ask that,” he replied. 

In a moment of boldness, Marinette drew in closer to Chat, standing toe to toe like before. His eyes, so green and catlike under the leathery black mask, were twinkling with laughter. 

“Sorry,” she said, though her voice was somewhat closer to sultry than apologetic. 

“S’okay,” Chat said.

Suddenly, a devious smile spread across his face.

“What?” 

Chat’s voice was unbearably smug as he replied, “You’re jealous of her.”

“Jealous? How could I be jealous?!” Marinette protested, stomach dropping because _shit shit shit yeah._

“Oh my God, you love me,” he crowed, smothering her in a hug, “You don’t want anyone else talking to me.”

Chat’s tone was light and teasing, though, so despite her best efforts, Marinette couldn’t be annoyed. So she smiled up at him instead. Her palms were pressed to his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He leaned down ever so slightly, so that his warm breath ghosted over Marinette’s ear as he whispered to her.

“So…where were we?”

\--------------------

When Marinette and Chat Noir starting giving each other those gross-ass bedroom eyes in the middle of the dancefloor was when Alya usually chose to take her leave.   
It just wasn’t high on her bucket list to watch two lovable idiots in spandex get it on in public. 

But her own evening wasn’t going the greatest. She sat at the bar, tapping her fingers in time to the music as Bubbler downed his third Earthquake. He was already swaying, tipsy. Those drinks had enough absinthe in them to make anyone dizzy. 

“I’m not carrying you home,” Alya said. 

“You couldn’t carry me anyway,” Bubbler replied. 

“Wanna bet?”

But Alya wasn’t really listening. She glanced over toward the spot where she’d left Marinette with Chat Noir. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

They were kissing. Chat had his stupid clawed gloves buried in Marinette’s loose shoulder-length hair, and her arms had wound their way around his neck, pulling him in closer.

“Damn, they’re going ,” said Bubbler idly. 

“Why do I always feel like I’m the sidepiece to all the High School Musical action they’re putting on?” Alya wondered. 

“Dunno.”

“It shouldn’t bother me. But they’re not even that great of a couple. They’re not even a couple! They just have the whole mysterious and sexy thing going on. Plus they use nicknames,” Alya said, shrugging.

Bubbler’s unfocused gaze was sympathetic, “I can call you ‘my lady’, if-if that’d make you feel better.” 

He pointed double finger-pistols at her. Alya laughed in spite of herself. 

“I’ll pass.”

“Okay,” Bubbler agreed, slipping off the barstool, “Your loss, though.”

As if to further accentuate the height difference that always bugged Alya, Bubbler came around to stand behind her chair and rest his chin on the top of her head gently, both hands rubbing her shoulders. She melted into his touch, grateful that, even inebriated, he could tell when she needed a little TLC. 

“One of these days I’m gonna figure out who you are under that mask,” Alya commented. 

Bubbler’s laugh reverbed against her, “Is that so?”

“I’m a professional secret-finder-outer.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

She spun around in the barstool around so that they were face-to-face, “I mean it! I want to know who you are.”

“I’m charismatic and hot as fuck. Wha-what else do you need to know?”

“Hmm,” Alya hummed, peering into Bubbler’s honey-golden eyes, “Aha!”

“What?” 

“You wear contacts!” 

Bubbler pouted, “Cheap guess.” 

“I can literally see them. Right now. In your eyes.”

“Well whatever, I’m hella drunk.” 

“I know you are.”

Alya leaned forward and let Bubbler wrap his arms around her in a hug, securing hers around his waist. A comfortable silence fell over them. 

“They’re still going,” Bubbler said, after a while. 

“Hm.”

“Ladybug and Chat. They’re sucking some serious face.”

Alya groaned, “Why would you say it like that?”

“Well, look at them!”

She unburied her face from the softness of Bubbler’s red-yellow-and-blue suit and looked toward her best friend. Sure enough, the two of them were still completely wrapped around each other in romantic bliss, mouths mashed together like they’d been glued there. 

“We’re going to have to kill them,” Bubbler said decisively. 

“You’re a violent drunk!” Alya said wryly. 

“I’m not violent. I think of solutions.”

“That’s not a solution to this particular problem.”

“I beg to differ.” 

“Option Two, please,” Alya deadpanned. 

Bubbler didn’t say anything. 

“Any day, now.”

But he still didn’t reply. Instead, he dipped two fingers under Alya’s chin, and tilted her head up ever so slightly. Smirking, Alya let him lean down and kiss her once, softly, hesitantly. 

Option Two was usually better, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bunch of you wanted some Alya POV content, so I kinda experimented with that here. I dunno. Hopefully I can stay on track with updating, but I'm starting school again soon and that'll put a real damper on my writing time. BUT I WILL FINISH THIS FIC NO MATTER WHAT. And you can rest assured that my adaptation of Chloe Bourgeois will always be into girls.  
> Okay guys, actually, feel free to leave constant comments until I update. It guilts me into getting shit done. OKAY I LOVE YOU BYE


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhh, the updating schedule is looking more like every two weeks for now. I know, I know, I'm breaking my promise. But writing on four or five hours of sleep during the school year is almost impossible. Your girl is a film major and that means lots and lots of night classes. REGARDLESS. I have a chapter for you today!  
> This one includes sugar daddy Chat Noir and gay thoughts. Two of my favorite things!

Chat Noir broke the comfortable silence first. 

“Do you know someone named Marinette?” 

They were still drawn in close from their little makeout sesh, foreheads pressed together, so the way that Marinette recoiled did not go unnoticed. 

“You do know her,” Chat said triumphantly. 

“I mean-”

But he interrupted her in his glee, “I knew it! I want you to do me a favor for her.”

Marinette blinked, “Um, okay. Shoot.”

Chat grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her over to the entrance to backstage. He bounded through the door, and after a few seconds, returned with something in his hand.

“Can you give her this next time you see her?” he asked. 

He handed her a slip of paper that Marinette recognized with a pang of embarrassment. It was another check, this time for two hundred and twelve euros, filled out as the prize pool for a fight earlier that same week.

If Chat had not previously proved himself to be the most oblivious person in the universe, Marinette would have been certain that she was being punk’d. Granted, Marinette had absolutely no idea of Chat’s identity either, but was he really that clueless after spending so much time with her in both of her personas?

After a second of gaping wordlessly and blushing, Marinette eked out, “Sure thing.”

“Thank you, my lady, I owe you one.”

“More like twenty,” she replied.

Suddenly, Darkblade poked his head out from the backstage door.

“Chat!” he called, “Dude, we gotta review the CCTV footage for our insurance.”

“Do they cover butterfly damage?” Chat wondered wryly.

Darkblade rolled his eyes, “Hurry up.”

Chat turned apologetically to Marinette.

“Sorry. I think that’s my cue to say goodnight,” he said.

“That’s fine. I’ll just find Lady Wifi and go home. It’s been quite a night.”

“I’ll see you soon!” he promised.

And before he slipped backstage, Chat darted forward and pressed one last quick kiss to Marinette’s lips. She blushed again as he beamed and waved.

“Bye!”

Damn that cat. Being all cute and stuff. It was utterly unfair. 

Marinette didn’t have to go looking for Alya that night, because she appeared out of the crowd a few seconds later.

“You finished macking on your sugar daddy?” Alya asked, as she approached. 

“Funny you should mention that,” Marinette said sheepishly. 

“Why?”

Marinette unfolded the check and handed it to Alya, who took one look at it and started laughing so hard that bystanders stared at her in alarm. 

“Shut up!” Marinette protested. 

“The sugar daddy strikes again!” Alya choked. 

“Fuck off.”

Alya wiped laughing tears out of her eyes, “Don’t be mean.”

“Then don’t pick on me!”

“How did this happen?” 

Marinette shrugged, “He wants me to give this to Marinette.”

“But you’re Marinette,” Alya pointed out.

“I know that!”

“He must still think you need money.”

“I guess so.”

Alya grinned, “He’s sure looking out for you, girl.”

“He doesn’t need to!” Marinette moaned. 

“Oh, come on. It’s cute. In a weird over-chivalrous kind of way.”

“I can’t believe he doesn’t realize that both of these people are me.”

Alya made a face at that, “Wait. When did Chat even talk to Marinette-you about Ladybug-you?”

Marinette paused for a second, “You know, I can’t remember. Huh.”

\--------------------

Marching unannounced into your boss’s office was a scary thing to do regardless of how terrifying an individual that boss happened to be. So it was only logical that Marinette spent hours the night before hyping herself up, promising herself snacks and a whole extra hour of sleep if she could gather the courage to do what she had to do. 

Now, she stood in front of her company’s CEO’s desk, feet planted wide apart and arms loosely crossed in what she hoped was a confident pose. 

"Yes."

Gabriel Agreste looked up from his paperwork, sharp features twisted by mild surprise. 

“Pardon me?” he asked, finally.

“Yes,” Marinette repeated, “You can have my design for your line.”

“Excellent.” 

The reaction was much more lackluster than Marinette had been expecting. Gabriel simply leaned back in his chair and picked up the phone on his desk, dialing briskly. 

“Nathalie?” he said into the phone, “Bring me the contract for Miss Dupain-Cheng.” 

And that was the extent of the conversation. He returned his attention to the paperwork, leaving Marinette to stand awkwardly in front of his desk until Nathalie came to the rescue, high heels click-clacking as she entered. 

“I’ll need a few signatures,” she said.

“Okay.” Marinette pulled out the just-in-case pen she had stashed in her bag.

Nathalie handed her the form, “If you have a problem with the compensation, tell me now, so we can renegotiate.”

At the top of the contract, the company had listed the payment breakdown for her. And the total made Marinette’s knees buckle. 

“This says 12,000 euros.”

“Is that adequate?” Gabriel asked absently.

“Two thousand for the design, because it’s a feature,” explained Nathalie impatiently, “The pieces will retail for twenty-five to fifty apiece, multiplied by about a hundred units of each for the first production.”

“Plus royalties if we reproduce the design,” Gabriel added. 

“Oh,” Marinette said weakly.

He raised one thin eyebrow, “Do you need a renegotiation? Because I’m certain we can stretch the usual payment plan, in this special case…”

“No!” Marinette all but yelled.

“No renegotiation or no deal?” Nathalie prompted. 

“No renegotiation! This is…this is more than enough.”

Gabriel nodded, “A few signatures and we have an accord.” 

So Marinette sat. She read over the contract in full detail under Nathalie’s neutral gaze, but nothing seemed glaringly wrong. So she signed and initialed her way down the page, following the secretary’s pointing finger.

“The first check will be delivered to you within the week,” Gabriel said, once she had finished. 

“I’ll be sending a copy of the contract for your records, too,” Nathalie promised.

“Okay,” Marinette said, gingerly standing up, “Thank you.”

Gabriel’s smile was cold as he replied, “No, Miss Dupain-Cheng, thank you.”

Marinette nodded once, and turned to leave. But as soon as she had reached the doorjamb, Gabriel called after her.

“Oh, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

She turned back, “Yes?”

“I wouldn’t count on you hearing from my son at all in the coming weeks,” Gabriel said, voice cavalier but eyes alive with satisfaction, “He will be, ah…taking care of some family business.”

\--------------------

A few hours after facing down the gargoyle professionally known as Gabriel Agreste, Marinette found herself sitting alone at a table for two in an upscale tea house across the city center. Twilight was chasing its way across Paris, and streetlights were coming on outside, but Marinette couldn’t go outside and bask in the crispness of the city in fall. She was waiting for Chloe Bourgeois. 

She had put so much energy into pumping herself up to do difficult things, after all. It only made sense that she tackled the other elephant in the room on the same stressful day. And Chloe had some serious explaining to do regarding one Gabriel Agreste and his cryptic, almost threatening parting words. 

Marinette was running through exactly what she would say to Chloe when Chloe herself arrived and knocked every sentence that involved more than one syllable out of Marinette’s head.

“Hi!” Chloe said brightly, hurrying over to Marinette’s table. 

Chloe was decked out in a sundress made of the palest, most delicate yellow georgette fabric, and a pair of white sandals. Her hair was up in the usual high ponytail, with shorter wisps falling around her face and accentuating her sharp cheekbones. The beaming smile she wore made Marinette’s heart skip a beat. 

Her face a furious bright red, Marinette suddenly wondered if Alya might not be the only sapphic one in the apartment. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Chloe apologized, “Have you been waiting long? You’re not missing anything, are you?”

Marinette shook her head, “No, no, I don’t have anything to do tonight except this date.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Marinette, horrified, blurted out, “MEETING. Get-together. Outing.” 

Fuck. Ridiculously pretty or not, it was still Chloe. Marinette didn’t like Chloe. She didn’t, not at all. They weren’t friends. They weren’t on a date. And Marinette certainly wasn’t checking her out.

“Right,” Chloe agreed, a smile still playing on her perfectly-glossed lips.

“Sorry, I’ve had a long day,” Marinette apologized.

“I bet. But you said you wanted to talk?”

Right. Focus. There was an objective. Or, at least, there was an objective beyond discovering the exact contours of Chloe’s collarbones beneath the airy sleeveless dress. Marinette might have been staring. A little.

“I did,” Marinette said finally. 

“What about?”

“Adrien.”

Chloe looked a little surprised, “Oh. Really?”

Marinette nodded, “See, a couple weeks ago, Gabriel stopped coming down on me so hard at work.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He stopped asking me about Adrien.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Chloe said, her smile growing taut and tense.

“Well, I got to thinking,” Marinette shrugged, “Why would he suddenly not care about getting me to snitch on his precious rebel son?” 

She paused, watching Chloe reach up and start fiddling with her hair clip, expression blank. A nervous tic, maybe. Marinette felt a pang of remorse over how callous she must have sounded. But she charged on. 

“And then I realized, the only person who knows Adrien well enough to find out what he’s been doing, and who also has access to Gabriel to rat him out…is you.” 

Chloe crossed her arms, “I thought this was gonna be a nice chat.”

“Do I need to point blank ask you?” Marinette queried. 

“Please.”

“Have you been telling Gabriel about Adrien?”

There was a long, deafening silence. Marinette stared, unblinking, but Chloe didn’t meet her eyes. 

Finally, she whispered.

“I had to.”

And suddenly, Marinette was furious. Which she had expected, really. What she hadn’t expected was the overwhelming feeling of betrayal, like Chloe had done her a personal damage. Or the heavy pang of disappointment, like Chloe’s moral compass somehow mattered to her.

“How could you do that to him?” she stormed, “His father is going to destroy him!”

Chloe protested, “Gabriel isn’t going to hurt him.”

“Do you know that for sure? The kid’s been on the wrong side of the law for the past few years, Chloe. If his dad wants to throw him under the bus, there’s no hope at all.” 

“He wouldn’t!

Marinette rubbed her temples, aware that they were starting to make a scene in a very expensive and upscale café.

“I cannot believe this,” she said, “You sold out your best friend. To his evil neglectful bullying father. For what?”

Chloe looked on the verge of tears, “I didn’t mean to cause trouble! I thought…I just…”

“Just what? Wanted Gabriel to like you? Wanted to ruin Adrien’s life?”

“I was worried about him!” Chloe insisted, “There’s some bad shit going down at that place. I don’t want Adrien to be part of it.”

“How do you know that?” Marinette asked tiredly.

“I can’t tell you!”

“Then you don’t know!”

Chloe ripped the bumblebee clip out of her hair, and turned it over and over in her hands, “Marinette, I wish I could explain this to you. But Adrien is safest where his father can keep an eye on him.” 

“We don’t even know where he is,” Marinette argued.

“If there’s even a sliver of a chance that he’s at that nightclub we talked about, he needs to be taken away from there.” 

Chloe’s voice was so even and so determined that Marinette grew angrier still. How dare that girl make decisions for Adrien? How dare she put his freedom and his safety at risk by returning him to a father who didn’t even care if he was alive?

“You told me,” Marinette said, voice shaking with rage, “You told me yourself how few fucks Gabriel gives about his son. And you forced him to go back anyway.” 

“Marinette, please-”

“How could you?”

“You don’t understand. Sous-Terre, it’s being-”

“I can’t look at you right now. I – I’m leaving.” 

Marinette stood up and pushed in her chair with a long scraping sound that effectively muffled Chloe’s pleading. There was no saving the conversation now. She turned on her heel and walked out, angry tears running down her cheeks, the image of Chloe’s icy blue eyes begging her to understand burned into her memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My schedule is slowly killing me but I promise I will continue to have content for you on a semi-regular basis! I will never give up! I love you, babies, leave me some nice comments!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that, because I am writing fight scenes so often and am so hopeless at it, I literally enrolled in a self-defense martial arts class so that I could learn how to kick people's asses and describe it properly. This story has actually altered my real life. What have I created? Who am I?  
> Things get REAL in this chapter. We meet some new friends. We gain some new insights. We have some banter. Everything hurts.

Déjà vu was a powerful thing.

Truly, there was nothing like a good case of déjà vu to explain away the appearance of massive amounts of butterflies infiltrating a fight club two times in a single month. Because that was exactly what was going on. 

After the disastrous conversation she had with Chloe, Marinette resolved to find out once and for all if Adrien was a patron at Sous-Terre. It would confirm or debunk Chloe’s theory, while simultaneously giving her a chance to warn him before his father could make a move. 

And of course, she had recruited Alya for the job. 

They decided to go to the club in costume, hoping that if Adrien was there in plainclothes, he would want to talk to Ladybug again. The plan for finding him if he was in costume was still shaky. But they would look, pay attention to patrons with a detail that they usually didn’t bother to do, and they would find him. 

It didn’t matter, though. Half an hour into their visit, as the crowds began to really fill up the club, there was a horrific racket of car alarms and shouts and crashes outside. The bright mid-day sunlight was blotted out, dropping heavy ominous shadows across the confused clubgoers.

Marinette grabbed Alya’s shoulder, and wrenched her around to face the entrance to the club. Butterflies, this time pitch-black with pearlescent purple swirls on their wings, were storming in the front door. Nobody moved.

As Marinette watched, frozen in place with terror like the rest of the patrons, the huge square windows that lined the top of the warehouse shattered. A rainfall of glass dropped on the packed dancefloor below. Screams of pain and surprise rose, the echo lost in the shuffling sound of wings and wings and wings. 

More butterflies came in through the broken windows, circling like tiny vultures around the prone figures of Marinette’s friends. They were everywhere, all at once, thousands upon thousands of them glittering in the daylight streaming in from all angles. But they stayed away from Marinette, stopping to go around her in an eerie polite circle.  
Marinette felt like she was in the eye of a very strange hurricane. Even while chaos spun every which way, nothing touched her. 

Then the first butterfly landed. 

Climatika, the girl that Marinette had fought in her very first fight, stood just feet in front of her. She had been sitting alone at a table with a drink, but now she was cowering behind a rain umbrella that she held open in front of her like a shield. 

The unassuming insect touched down on Climatika’s arm, and crawled along her sleeve down to the umbrella clutched in her hand. Then it disappeared in a flash of purple.  
A sinister black hue overtook the pale blue fabric of the umbrella, then the wooden handle, then the white cuff of Climatika’s jumpsuit. Her entire body was engulfed in the purplish-black color of the butterfly, so bright that Marinette could barely stand to look directly at it and so bizarre that she didn’t even want to. 

When the light faded, there stood Climatika, her costume darker and hair teased out long, a glowing shape like the jagged outline of a butterfly hovering in the air before her face as she looked blankly toward the ceiling. 

Someone screamed. Marinette dimly realized an instant later that it had been her.

Another one of those horrible butterflies landed on Stoneheart. He vanished in the same black cloud and reappeared as a solid-rock gargoyle, eight feet tall. The monstrous new Stoneheart looked down at his hands, and clenched them into fists. He roared, powerfully enough that Marinette could feel the ground rumbling.

This was very, very bad.

“RUN!” 

Someone grabbed Marinette by the hand and yanked her away, and she went, dragging Alya desperately behind her. 

It was Chat Noir. He led them to the heavy metal door that led backstage, and once he, Marinette, Alya, and an out-of-breath Bubbler were safely inside, slammed the door hard and locked it from the inside. 

“Are you guys okay?” Chat asked. 

Bubbler nodded, “What the fuck is going on out there?” 

“Hell if I know.” 

Alya’s legs were shaky as she sank down onto one of the couches, which that night were arranged in a square around four sides of a battered coffee table. 

“They look like supervillains,” she said softly. 

“Supervillains?” Bubbler repeated, “What, like fuckin’ Magneto is gonna show up next?” 

“Hey!” Chat said shortly.

“What?”

“Be serious!” 

“They did look like supervillains, though,” Alya insisted. 

An earth-shaking slam made all four of them jump. Someone – or something – was banging on the locked door, raising dust from the doorjamb in little clouds. Chat turned over his shoulder to glare in the direction of the sound.

And that was too damn much. Marinette let herself fall back onto the couch next to Alya’s, wanting to be in proximity to her friend but needing the empty expanse of the seat to herself. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that the periodic pounding on the door would go away if she couldn’t see the metal quiver and groan. 

When she opened them again, there was a tiny box on the table before her. 

“Guys?” she said, so softly that she was sure no one would hear. 

But the others turned to her. There were four hexagonal wooden boxes, inscribed on top with shallow red-painted carving that weaved in delicate loops and twists. They lay like cardinal points on a compass, one on each of the four edges of the table. Four boxes, four terrified fighters. 

“What the…” Chat murmured.

He leapt neatly over the back of the couch across from Marinette and settled himself in front of one of the boxes. Bubbler followed suit, plopping down in the seat by the last box.

The silence around the table was deafening. They sat there, arranged one by one like someone had choreographed them for a Renaissance painting, each person alone on their respective seat but facing all the others. Lightbulbs flickered overhead as melee from the room outside rumbled with the chorus of a dozen angry voices. 

Alya was the first one to move.

She reached down, her hands surprisingly steady, and scooped up the box into two cupped palms. It fit there perfectly, the wavering fluorescent light playing innocently on its smooth wooden sides as Marinette watched.

At the same instant, four bursts of light creepily similar to the evil transforming butterflies outside except for the rainbow of colors – one red, one lime green, one jade green, one orange – popped open the tops of the boxes. It was as if a collection of miniscule nuclear bombs had detonated inside those strange little containers, emerging with the telltale crackling of an oncoming lightning storm.

Marinette yelped. Alya dropped her box with a heavy clatter as it fell back against the tabletop. Chat’s green eyes were as wide as Marinette had ever seen them as his gaze locked with hers for an impossible second.

She broke that mesmerizing eye contact with Chat because another set of eyes were staring straight through her. And they didn’t belong to Alya. Or Bubbler. 

A tiny bright-red creature, the approximate size and stature of a mandarin orange with an itty-bitty body, was floating – fucking floating – several inches above the open box, smiling at Marinette and blinking sleepily with enormous blue eyes. 

Still, nobody spoke. Marinette glanced from side to side in a noiseless panic. There were identical tiny creatures in front of each of her friends, all different colors and slightly different shapes. Alya’s and Chat’s faces were frozen in identical expressions of the utmost delight. It would’ve been funny if Marinette hadn’t been so terrified. 

“Hi, Ladybug!” came a tiny, squeaky voice. 

Marinette’s head snapped back down to look at the red thing as it beamed up at her. It had spoken to her. It knew her name.

“What are you, some kind of mouse? A bug? Bugmouse?” Marinette stammered. 

Ah, yes, the classic awkward defensive mechanism. Very effective when magical boxes pop out tiny genies. Marinette wanted to slap herself.

“I’m Tikki!” the tiny thing exclaimed, “I’m your Kwami!”

Chat perked up visibly, seizing the nearest tiny creature in one hand, “Are you my Kwami?” 

“Fuck, kid, lemme go!” the black creature griped.

“Plagg!” the red creature, Tikki, scolded.

“He’s gonna squish me and then it’ll be miraculous if he ever transforms!” 

The orange creature floating in front of Alya piped up, “Did you just make a pun?”

“My heroes don’t just pull the jokes outta their asses, buddy,” Plagg replied, his smirk revealing two tiny, sharp canine teeth.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,” Bubbler said, brow furrowed, “Heroes?” 

Orange Creature nodded, flying in a circle around Alya’s head, “This one was right on the money.”

“Those unfortunate beings outside are possessed by a kind of evil spirit called an akuma,” said the green creature. 

“Akuma,” Chat repeated. 

“Yes!” Tikki, “And like Wayzz was saying, the people out there are in a lot of danger!”

“The green one’s Wayzz,” Alya clarified. 

“Yes, baby,” the orange creature said, “And I’m Trixx.” 

Marinette pressed her masked face into her hands, voice muffled, “What are akumas?!”

“They possess people. They’re evil. We went over this shit, Ladybeetle, pay attention,” Plagg rolled his green eyes. 

“Everyone, please! We need to explain everything!” Tikki protested. 

The pounding against the door to their hiding place was getting more and more frequent. It seemed to Marinette that those akuma-thingies really didn’t like the magic floating McDonald’s toys. 

“Explain what?” Marinette asked.

Wayzz flew over to her and folded his tiny hands soberly, “You four have been chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” asked Chat.

“To wield the Miraculous.”

“Miraculous,” Chat repeated, locking eyes with Marinette again. 

They were thinking the same thing. All four of them were judging by the way Bubbler was punching Chat on the arm and Alya was pinching the bridge of her nose in dismay. Copycat had warned Chat, weeks and weeks ago, about something called the Miraculous.

Marinette grimaced, “Are they…is that…good?”

“The Miraculous are magical items that give the users super-human abilities. Each one comes with a kwami. One of us,” Trixx explained. 

“How does it work?” Alya asked. 

Trixx floated down to sit on top of her open box, “Well, each one of us corresponds to a different power and an animal as a kind of…mascot.”

“For example, I am the kwami for the Jade Turtle bracelet,” said Wayzz, gesturing to his own box where it lay in front of Bubbler. 

In that moment, Marinette took her first good look at the four kwami. She cleared her mind of all the panic and screaming, and really looked. 

Wayzz was a tiny green turtle, with an antenna on his head and a miniscule ornate shell on his back. The smirking Trixx was a black-pawed fox. But it was Tikki and Plagg that really made Marinette wonder exactly how many drugs had been slipped into her drink that night. 

Plagg, hovering lazily in the air by Chat Noir’s shoulder, was a matching little black cat with green eyes the exact same shade as Chat’s. 

And Tikki, the strange red creature, did a tiny pirouette in the air as Marinette realized that she was a black-spotted ladybug. Just like her. 

Bubbler pointed a finger at the two of them accusingly, “Hey, why do you guys get to match?” 

But Alya shushed him. She was looking at the fox kwami with wide, glittering eyes, looking happier than Marinette could ever recall her looking.

And then Marinette remembered middle school, when Alya was going through her most intense Marvel Comics phase. Superheroes were her favorite thing in the entire world. Peter Parker was the reason she was studying journalism, for fuck’s sake. And now…it looked like they were being asked to be superheroes. 

“What do you want from us?” Marinette asked Tikki.

“You have to choose to take the Miraculous,” said the ladybug kwami, “If you take the jewels, you’ll be able to transform into your hero personas right away.”

Alya and Chat yelled in unison, “I ACCEPT!” 

“Wait,” said Bubbler and Marinette, at the exact same time. 

The four of them exchanged glances. Awkward. 

“You might need to hurry this shit up,” said Plagg, his little cat ears swiveling, “It doesn’t sound good out there.”

“Please understand, the Miraculous are powerful weapons,” warned Wayzz. 

Trixx settled on top of Alya’s head, sinking down into her auburn hair, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t think you can do it! You were chosen, special. It has to be you four. No one else!” 

Things were getting more and more weird. So if they refused, there just…wouldn’t be any Miraculous holders? The kwamis wouldn’t find replacements? 

Then Marinette’s own voice surprised her.

“I think we should do it.”

“I agree,” said Chat. 

“There’s a big condition, though,” said Tikki. 

“What’s that?” asked Bubbler.

Wayzz answered, “Nobody can know your identities.”

“We don’t even know each other’s identities currently. Shouldn’t be a problem,” smirked Chat. 

“It’s very important!” Tikki insisted, “You have to promise!” 

Alya nodded, “Nobody will find out who we are.”

“Promise,” added Bubbler. 

“Too much talking!” Plagg complained. 

“We have to make sure they’re ready,” Trixx replied. 

“We’re ready,” said Marinette.

Sure, her voice was quavering when she said it. But regardless of how much Marinette wanted to politely decline and run away as fast as her legs could carry her, there was no other option. 

Tikki beamed, “I know you are.”

The red kwami flew down to her box and gestured into it. So Marinette leaned forward and looked. 

Nestled in the velvety backing, gleaming up at her, was a pair of unassuming deep-red earrings. Plain round studs. They didn’t look very miraculous.

“Put on your Miraculous,” Wayzz instructed, “We’re running out of time.”

So Marinette slid the earrings into her pierced ears (thank God she already had them pierced; what would she do otherwise?!), watching her friends as they revealed their various jewels. 

Chat put a thick silver ring onto the ring finger of his right hand. Alya slipped a golden-backed enamel pendant over her head, where it hung on a gold chain around her neck. Bubbler affixed a woven-strand bracelet with a heavy jade charm in the middle onto his left wrist. 

When they were all ready, Chat looked expectantly at Plagg. 

“What’s next?” 

Tikki answered, “Just say _transformer-moi_!” 

“ _Transformer-moi_?” Marinette repeated.

A burst of light near her face made Marinette flinch. The earrings were glowing.

As if being tugged in by a whirlpool, Tikki spiraled full-force toward Marinette and disappeared as soon as she made contact with the earring. 

Pink sparkles like fireworks zoomed across Marinette’s face, and then down her arms and legs. Her sports bra and leggings melted together into a skintight ladybug-spotted suit that covered every inch of her, from the high collar to the not-quite-shoes foot cover. The sticky feeling of the spirit gum under her mask disappeared, but the mask remained in place. 

She was still blinking away the spots in her vision when she heard Bubbler yell, ecstatic. 

“Oh, FUCK yeah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VOLPINA!ALYA AND TURTLE!NINO. YOU'RE WELCOME.  
> (UPDATE: Now that we have canon names for all of the kwamis and canon names for some of the heroes, I'm going to be using those!)  
> I do, however, need a little bit of an opinion from y'all. If I were to write some extra chapters and post them as a separate bonus story, would that be something you would read? Like, I would love it if Marinette ended up with Chloe, or Adrien, or Alya, or...I dunno, with nobody, even. Or, like, I would love to give you a whole extra piece about what the fuck Chloe did in China. But I can't do everything in this single story. So would some bonus content be okay?  
> Lemme know all your thoughts in the comments! I love you! See you next time!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I have not worked on this fic in awhile, and have been replying on all my pre-written material. Oops. But in my humble opinion, this chapter is my best work. Like, it's definitely my favorite chapter so far. Expect some sassy Bee Chloe, an uncanny amount of akumatized villains, and a scene completely ripped out of ML Origins. 
> 
> I always like to share my inspiration songs with yall, so for this chapter, try Nightmare by NateWantsToBattle on YouTube. I know, I know, it's a FNAF fansong, but just trust me.

The first thing Marinette saw once her head stopped spinning was Chat Noir. 

He had barely changed. The Miraculous ring on his finger had turned black with a neon green paw print in the center. And his suit had changed from real leather to a strange stretchy black fabric that looked a lot like her own new suit. But other than that, he was identical all the way to the cat ears. 

“This is fucking sweet,” came Alya’s voice. 

Marinette spun around to see that her best friend had undergone a complete makeover. 

Alya had unmistakably taken the fox Miraculous. Her full-body jumpsuit was orange with a white tummy. Long pointed orange ears sprouted up from her auburn curls, and the black boots on her feet gave the appearance of dark paws. A swath of fabric hung from her waist like a long tail. 

And Bubbler had changed so much that Marinette wasn’t sure she could still call him Bubbler. He wore a dark forest green suit with drop-crotch pants and black wrist tape up the arms. Instead of animal ears he had a loose hood draped over his brown hair. Slung on his back like a shell was an enormous jade-colored shield, which made him look even more like the giant turtle he was supposed to be. 

“We look damn good,” said Alya, glancing between the friends appreciatively. 

“You guys need names,” Chat said.

“What?”

Marinette nodded, “I can still go by Ladybug, and Chat can still be Chat, but you guys need to…like…name your heroes.”

Bubbler shrugged, “Wayzz called us the Jade Turtle. I can roll with that.”

“Jade Turtle,” Marinette repeated, turning to Alya, “Okay. And you?”

Instantly, Alya replied, “Rena Rouge.” 

Chat wrinkled his nose, “Really?” 

“You get a cool color name, why can’t I?” Alya demanded.

“I like it,” Bubbl- Jade Turtle said. 

“Okay. Rena Rouge,” said Marinette firmly. 

Alya nodded. Or Rena, rather. Now there was another whole alter-ego to remember. 

“Alright, team. What now?” Chat asked, planting his hands on his hips. 

Jade Turtle looked down at his bracelet wryly, “It’s not like those guys could’ve told us what to do.” 

A sound suspiciously like a clap of thunder shook the building just then. Marinette grabbed hold of Chat’s arm to steady herself.

“We don’t have time for this!” she yelled.

Alya nodded, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

As if on cue, the four of them gathered at the door. There was a pregnant beat of silence, and then Chat reached out with one quivering hand and opened it. 

Marinette was not ready for what she saw on the other side. 

There were people everywhere. Some of them lie prone on the floor. Some cowered in pockets of upturned furniture and debris. Several seemed frozen in place, arms raised defensively or wrapped around themselves in fear. 

And then there were the akumatized ones. 

Marinette could make out a half-dozen, at least. There was the hulking Stoneheart cutting a massive figure in the crowds, and Climatika with her umbrella hovering above them and blasting down lightning bolts from nowhere. And others, all glowing bright with the evil magic, all sending their own powers into the mix and raising screams from the hundreds of people packed into Sous-Terre. 

Butterflies filled all the remaining space, reflecting each burst of light and making the room seem painfully, unbearably claustrophobic. 

Alya and Chat Noir and Jade Turtle had long since disappeared into the chaos, like a good superhero should. And yet, Marinette couldn’t seem to move from her spot in the doorway. Her heart was pounding in her ears. Every nerve in her body was itching to run away. The room, so dark and so full, was spinning.

She hugged herself tightly, as if to force her mind to return to her body. In her terror, she was dissociating completely. She could feel herself shutting down, ready to fall unconscious or fall to pieces, until a sound cut through the fog in her brain.

Faintly, from across the warehouse, came Chat Noir’s voice, thin and desperate. 

“Darkblade!”

Marinette cringed. The bartender was out there somewhere. 

No, Marinette realized, everyone was out there somewhere. Every person who Marinette had come to know and love over her brief time as an underground fighter was out there. For some reason, this was the place that had to fall victim to some kind of ancient evil, the place where people had to get hurt.

And that, well, that was unacceptable. 

Marinette charged. She was Ladybug. She was a superhero, for fuck’s sake. She was going to save her friends.

A red and black figure stopped Marinette in her path. Dislocoeur, a club regular with a costume scheme that poked fun at his hapless love life, had been transformed from tall buff jock in a homemade jumpsuit to a winged dark Cupid armed with bow and arrow.

“Oooh, a bleeding-heart ladybug,” Dislocoeur cooed, “I have something special for you.”

He drew back his bow, a single heart-tipped arrow notched, and aimed it right at Marinette’s chest. And, magical suit or not, Marinette was absolutely certain that an arrow to the heart would mean certain death. Their fucking save-the-world plan didn’t last too long. She was gonna die five minutes out of the gate.

But that didn’t happen.

Something yellow and fuzzy smashed full-force into Dislocoeur and sent him flying, arrows scattered and bow cracking hard on the floor. Marinette stared after him, mouth agape. Queen Bee, in an inexplicable surprise appearance, had bodyslammed him into the far wall.

“ABOUT FUCKING TIME!” she yelled at Marinette, whipping her blonde ponytail out of her face.

Marinette blinked, taken aback, “Wha-”

“GET OUT THERE!”

And Queen Bee did a backflip, neatly evading a renegade bolt of lightning from Climatika. Fucking shit. Could Marinette do tricks like that?! 

There wasn’t time to think about it, though. Stoneheart had noticed them, and made a wild grab to catch Marinette with one gigantic hand. Bee came running, seizing Marinette around the wrist and dragging her away.

“How are you doing this?!” Marinette yelped.

Bee glared at her, “Miraculous!”

Oh.

OH. 

“So you’re-”

“YES,” Bee said emphatically, “Please get with it. I need your help!” 

A yell from across the room interrupted her. 

“MY LADY. LOOK OUT!” 

Marinette turned just in time to see a gigantic circular saw blade whirling through the air like a death Frisbee, directly toward her and Bee. 

She flinched. No impact. So she opened her eyes.

A thin silver baton had been thrust through the center of the saw blade, holding it at bay inches from her face. The thing stayed there suspended for a second, spinning around the baton like a ring-toss game. In any other situation it would’ve been Looney-Tunes comical.

Marinette looked at the baton, unsure of what she was seeing, and recoiled in surprise. It was engraved with a tiny pawprint, exactly matching Chat’s Miraculous.

“Thank God.”

Chat Noir, in a blur of black, leapt toward the now-still blade. When he planted his foot down on it, the blade disappeared in a puff of purplish smoke. 

He looked up at Marinette confusedly, “The fuck-”

“Oh, so close,” came a familiar voice, twisted and mocking.

Marinette and Chat looked, at the exact same instant, and saw Evillustrator standing not ten feet away. 

Their friend had – painfully obviously – been taken over by an akuma. He had a tablet strapped to his arm and a drawing stylus poised over the surface. His outfit had been doused in electric-bright colors, his usually-untamable red hair spiked up in even wilder white-purple-and-orange waves. 

When he spoke, Chat’s voice was strangled, “E-Evillustrator. I…”

But Evillustrator’s smile was cold, “Cat got your tongue?”

Chat snarled. He yanked the baton out of the cracked ground and sprinted toward Evillustrator. And without a second thought, Marinette was at his heels. 

They didn’t reach him, though. 

With a flick of his wrist, Evillustrator drew a rectangle on his tablet. And in real life, a huge force-field box dropped out of thin air around the two heroes. Marinette and Chat slammed into it, hard, and fell. They were trapped.

But Chat got to his feet, clawing against the transparent wall, growling low, “What did you do to my friend?”

This new Evillustrator laughed a rattling laugh, “Let’s just say I’m…taking a new commission. But I’m still your old buddy.” 

“ _You’re not my Evillustrator_!” Chat spat.

“Oh, kitty,” he sighed, smirking lazily, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

A few more strokes on the tablet, and an oversized rocket like a giant cartoony firework appeared on the ground before Evillustrator. He grabbed hold of one of the fins with his free hand.

Marinette could feel her body going into shock. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she pounded on the force field. But Chat, amazing fearless loving currently-crying Chat, was counting on her. 

The rocket ignited in a shower of sparks. It flew toward the ceiling in what seemed like slow-motion, carrying Evillustrator upwards. When it struck the concrete, the rocket burst in an explosion of purple that illuminated the entire room. Evillustrator shot into the sky with the momentum, flying away on another wave of purplish light.

An enormous hole now gaped in the middle of Sous-Terre’s ceiling.

Debris fell into the raging crowd. A wooden beam crashed through the force field box, breaking it and leaving Marinette and Chat standing under the shower of splinters and concrete.

“Your weapon!” Chat screamed, tears openly streaming down his face. 

Marinette jumped, eyes darting to him. 

“Your yoyo! HURRY!”

One of Marinette’s hand shot down to her hip. There, slung low across her waist, was a tiny circular object. A yoyo. A little black-spotted yoyo. 

She affixed the string around her finger, and slung the strange weapon out the way Spider-Man did with his webs. It wrapped around an exposed beam, holding fast. Marinette reached out to Chat, taking his black-gloved hand in her own. Then, she leapt. 

Her yoyo’s taut string catapulted them upward through the hole in the ceiling. They soared for a few seconds, and Marinette’s head was suddenly clear. She spotted an open stretch of rooftop, and there they landed a split second later. 

The sky outside, which had been clear and blue in the midafternoon sun, was now a stormy grey. Wind tore at Marinette’s hair as she stood there looking over the dingy buildings in their empty corner of Paris, still clinging to Chat’s hand. 

Butterflies poured out of the opening behind them. The entire world seemed to be nothing but flashing black wings, covering the sky and swirling around Marinette and Chat as if marking them, as if telling them that there was nowhere to hide.

Then, someone laughed. 

It was a deep rumbling laugh, so heavy and loud and deeply reverbing that Marinette was convinced the Earth itself had come alive to mock her. 

“Ladybug and Chat Noir,” the voice said slowly, as if savoring the words. 

“Who are you?” Chat yelled, twisting around desperately, searching for the source of the taunting. 

“I knew you were here. _I knew_.”

The building was rolling like an earthquake, tossing Marinette and the weak-kneed Chat sideways. From inside Sous-Terre came a thick black mass of butterflies. Marinette stared at them, uncomprehending, the deep laughter echoing torturously around her head. 

And then she saw it. The akuma were pressed together into a jagged, moving, behemoth face. 

The face hummed, empty simulated eyes narrowing, “I’ve waited…for so long. When a little birdy told me that there was a cat and a ladybug at a disgusting Paris club, well, I just _had_ to see for myself. And look what I’ve found, wrapped up so neatly for me like Christmas gifts.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Marinette shrieked against the wind.

“I’ve found you,” the face repeated, “And there’s nothing you can do to escape me now.”

“ _WHO ARE YOU?_ ” Chat screamed, voice cracking.

As Marinette tried unsuccessfully to calm down the screeching panic in her brain, she saw Climatika propel herself out of the broken nightclub. The girl flew upwards a hundred feet, supported on the column of a makeshift tornado. Gables were ripped off rooftops as she passed. 

Out climbed Stoneheart, hand over hand up the side of the building like King Kong come to life in granite. Dislocoeur shot upward into the sky behind him. A flash of green, a golden blur, a spot of glinting black, and the higher roofs around them were covered in villains, staring down like gargoyles on Notre Dame.

The ghostly black face broke into an evil smile, the hollow eyes shifting as the akuma composing them darted and weaved.

“I am Papillon. And you will give me your Miraculous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I used the Jade Turtle design piloted (heh, pun) by Christina @thelastpilot!! 
> 
> This chapter took me so long to write, you guys. I needed it to be dark and tense enough, and also to make a smooth enough transition between the characters I've shaped at the fight club and their canon akuma!forms. This series means so much to me, and I'm really enjoying the freedom to play with it like this. I'm also super stoked to be writing Volpina!Alya because, as resident Queen of Unpopular Opinions (what with my deep love for Chloe), I really don't like Lila. I dunno.
> 
> But yeah, I hope I did an okay job with this one. Let me know in the comments!!! I love you all!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette thought she had reached her capacity for speechlessness and idiocy in the face of sexy. That is, until she saw Chat Noir. (Underground Fighting AU)
> 
> (Re-Written as of December 2017!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, GUESS WHO'S BACK???
> 
> Yes, it has been over a year since the last installment of DTMWAGT. But I am HERE, I am BACK, because I promised that I would finish this. And I will finish it. PLUS, I have edited, re-written, and all-around improved the first 20 chapters! So if you're coming back to me as an OG reader, please go back and reread, because it's so much better now.
> 
> Unluckily for you, this chapter is really emotional. Oops.

_“I am Papillon. And you will give me your Miraculous.”_

The Papillon’s phantom face leered down at Marinette, who felt as though years had passed as she stared, bewildered, up at the supervillains on the rooftops around her. They seemed to be poised on the tips of their toes, waiting for their cue to attack. 

“Well?” simpered the villainous face, “What are you waiting for?”

With a laugh, Climatika leapt down onto the roof beside Marinette, and opened her umbrella. Gale-force winds blew Marinette back; she shot out with her yoyo and wrapped it around the gables on the neighboring rooftop, and hung on for dear life. Below her, she could see police cruisers gathered around the outside of what used to be Sous-Terre, lights flashing and sirens blaring. A searchlight panned over her. Helicopters.

But as quickly as the hurricane started, it stopped. Marinette dropped onto her stomach, and looked up to see Chat Noir’s baton extended several yards out. It had punctured Climatika’s umbrella, and released one of the tiny purple Akumas, which fluttered lazily nearby. 

“How did you do that?” Marinette yelled. 

“It looks like…if you break the object that holds the Akuma, you release it!” Chat called back. 

“ _No_ ,” rumbled the Papillon. “The rest of you, get them!”

Down came Stoneheart, and Timebreaker, and Pharaoh, and Dislocoeur, all in distorted versions of their costumes, all ready to kill Ladybug and Chat Noir. And they attacked. 

Chat grimaced, and charged his bartender, slamming his baton into the snake-headed staff that Pharaoh wielded. They clanged together with the grinding sound of metal on metal, and away they went, sword-fighting. 

Alya spoke at Marinette’s shoulder, making her jump.

“Which one should I take?!” 

Marinette glanced at her and Jade Turtle, standing with their weapons drawn. They had made it to the roof, and they both looked furious, but the last thing Marinette wanted to do was send them into battle. But all she said was:

“Stoneheart, if you can handle him together.” 

Jade Turtle winked as they ran off in pursuit of the rock giant. “You got it, m’Ladybug.” 

A swift kick to the middle of her back sent Marinette sprawling again. Darkblade loomed over her, a massive sword in her hand and a real set of chain-link armor covering his usual soft outfit and softer smile. He stabbed the sword downward, and Marinette rolled out of the way. She clambered to her feet, spinning her yoyo in a wide circle around her like a shield, though she wasn’t sure what good it would do against a real sword. She could feel the panic setting in, until - 

“LADYBUG. LUCKY CHARM!” 

Marinette looked behind her to see Queen Bee on all fours on the roof, panting. Bee’s jumpsuit was torn around her fingers, and her nails were bleeding from the effort of clawing her way up through the ceiling. 

“Lucky charm,” she repeated, out of breath. 

“I don’t-”

Bee pointed at her yoyo. “It’s your special power. Throw the fucking yoyo, and say ‘lucky charm’.” 

So Marinette took the yoyo in her hand, and tossed it up. The eyes of the Papillon followed it as it sailed up.

“Lucky Charm!” 

A burst of pink sparks shot out of the yoyo, and solidified into a roll of ladybug-spotted wrist tape. Both objects fell into Marinette’s waiting hand. A second ticked by. Two. Marinette scrutinized the tape, and then set her gaze on Darkblade. Oh, she had a _plan_.

With one hand, she slung the tape out and let it wind around Darkblade’s sword arm and loop across his body. She tugged, hard, and the tape tightened, securing his arm tight against his side and sending the sword flying. Marinette caught it easy with a flick of her yoyo, and let the weapon smash into the ground. Out of the shattered pieces of what Marinette recognized as a cocktail shaker cup came another Akuma. 

Two down, God knows how many more to go. Bee grinned, and Marinette grinned back, until she saw Dislocoeur. 

The broken-heart villain was soaring in a dive toward Queen Bee, his scythe hauled back and ready to swing. He would cleave Bee in two if he got to her. Marinette glanced between the roll of tape in her hand and the approaching danger, knowing in her heart that she wouldn’t be fast enough. 

“ _STOP._ ”

The Papillon’s voice was deafening, ricocheting off the buildings. The villains stopped. 

When Marinette found the massive face again, it looked agitated. Worried, almost. The huge empty eyes turned downward, fixing on her.

“I’m not through with you. Ladybug. Chat Noir. I will have your Miraculous.”

And the face collapsed.

The spell was broken instantly. Clouds of dark butterflies swirled away into the sky, letting sunlight filter back down onto the badly-damaged piece of street. One by one, the possessed underground fighters came to, as their Akumas phased out of their bodies and flew away to join the rest. 

“Is he giving up?” Marinette wondered, eyes wide.

“No.” Bee’s voice was certain. “You have to purify the Akuma or else they can come back.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Your yoyo can turn the Akuma back to benign from the evil state they’re in now. You have to do that to all of them to stop Papillon.”

Marinette’s eyes followed the haze of butterflies in the distance. “All of them?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, yeah.”

Just as Marinette opened her mouth to reply to that cryptic statement, a huge, cartoon-style anvil fell out of the sky and smashed through the roof between the two heroes. 

“What the _fuck_?” screamed Bee.

The simpering voice of one Akumatized Evillustrator echoed up from inside the ruins of Sous-Terre. 

“You heard what the boss-man said. We’re still going to need that Miraculous, Ladybug.”

“Son of a bitch,” swore Marinette, “I thought they were all cured.”

She hooked her yoyo onto the roof tiles, and lowered herself carefully into the building, taking pains to hit the ground without making any extra noise. Silence. She could see people huddled under upturned tables and behind wreckage from the roof. Evillustrator hovered several feet above the ground, suspended on a floating platform, twirling his stylus between his fingers. She crept through what was once a beautiful, cozy, crowded nightclub, searching for Chat Noir, who had disappeared during the akuma battle.

Marinette found him huddled behind the splintered bar, nursing a big cut on his cheek but looking no worse for the wear. His ears perked up when he saw her. Cute.

“Papillon is gone, but there’s one more,” she said.

Chat sighed, “I know. It’s Evillustrator. But I don’t know if I can-”

“Then I will.” 

“Please don’t hurt him.”

Marinette’s throat tightened. “I might not have a choice.”

“Then…promise he’ll be okay in the end. Promise.”

“I promise.”

She peered over the bar, and saw the Akumatized fighter pacing leisurely toward the bar, kicking over chairs and scribbling onto his tablet. 

“I need to get his stylus away from him. Can you be a distraction for me?” Marinette asked.

Chat set his jaw, and nodded. “It’s the least I can do.”

Evillustrator was closing in. Marinette could hear him humming to himself as he walked nearer. They had to act fast.

“From above,” she murmured to Chat.

He nodded, the plan understood, and extended his baton to lift himself into the badly damaged rafters of the building.

“I can see you up there, Kitty-kitty,” taunted Evillustrator from below. 

Marinette only had one chance to do this right. 

The exact instant that Chat dropped down in front of Evillustrator, baton raised like he was ready for a fight, she leapt over the bar and lassoed him around the torso with a long strip of the ladybug wrist tape so he couldn’t run. The artist had his left arm poised over his tablet, the pen that housed the akuma in his hand. Marinette caught the hand and pen in her own. Her other hand she placed – without a second thought – on his elbow.

_“See? If you came forward again, and pushed hard, you could break my arm. It works.”_

Marinette pushed. Evillustrator screamed.

She snatched the pen out of his hand, which dangled uselessly on the end of his broken arm. There were tears welling in Marinette’s eyes. He would recover, she knew he would, but she could feel her heart clench for having no choice but to hurt him with the very same move he had taught her so many months ago. 

“Here!” yelled Chat, and Marinette noticed that his voice was shaking too. 

She tossed Chat the pen, and he broke it neatly in two. Out of the split pieces, nonchalant as anything, came the akuma. It fluttered confusedly around Chat’s head. 

Marinette’s hand snapped to the yoyo at her side. Her trembling fingers brushed over the spotted top, opening up the petals of the cover to reveal the glowing pink lining. She lashed out with it, swinging it around like a lasso and plucking the akuma out of the air. 

“Gotcha,” she muttered.

The yoyo landed safely in her hand. She pressed the top of it again, reopening the compartment and releasing the akuma. 

It was pure white.

White. White butterflies. White butterflies, like the ones that came to Sous-Terre weeks before. The white ones, the black ones…they were one and the same. And they all belonged to Papillon.

Marinette set her jaw, actively ignoring Evillustrator as he sank to the floor, still screaming. She threw the roll of wrist tape into the air, unsure of exactly what she was doing, and called out to any merciful spirit that might be listening.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The Lucky Charm burst into a shower of sparkling pink. It twirled and looped through the air, making a long lazy circle around Marinette. As she stared, wide-eyed, she realized that the sparkles were made of translucent glittering ladybugs. 

“Miraculous,” she whispered.

Evillustrator’s pained howls were cut short. A swath of the tiny pink sparkles ran the length of his body where it lay on the asphalt, turning his face and his clothes and his hair back to normal. His arm solidified, bones mending themselves under his skin.

The magic of the Lucky Charm swept across the shattered ceiling of Sous-Terre, patching up the wood and shingles before Marinette’s eyes. Alya, Jade Turtle, and Bee were deposited back on the ground beside her, along with a dozen very battered fighters that had been transformed into villains and stranded on the rooftops.

The cut on Chat’s face was gone. Queen Bee’s fingers were healed, and her suit patched. Tables were righted, the bar repaired, the lights strung back in their neat rows across the ceiling. Even the wrestling ring and its spotlights were fixed, right back where they always were. 

Everything was perfect. 

And then the police swarmed in. 

\--------------------

As soon as the first cop burst into the club, gun raised and screaming for everyone to get onto the ground and raise their hands over their heads, Queen Bee vanished. 

Marinette wasn’t one to talk, though, because she swung herself into the rafters just as the doors opened. Nobody noticed her.

She searched for Bee in the crowd as an overweight red-headed policeman backed Rena Rouge and Jade Turtle into a corner and demanded to know what they had done. She scanned the crowd as Chat Noir pleaded with another officer, and, refusing to drop to his knees, was slammed against the bar and put into handcuffs. 

“You don’t understand!” he was yelling, “I own this place. This is my club! You can’t do this!” 

Evillustrator and the others had been forced to lay face-down on the concrete floor of the club, and Marinette could see him shaking and read the confusion on his face when their eyes met. She wondered if he even remembered what had happened to him.

And if that wasn’t enough, Marinette’s earring started beeping at her. Once. Twice. Three times. On the fifth round of beeps, Marinette’s vision was clouded with pink again, and she emerged in her regular clothes again, the old Ladybug outfit restored and Tikki the kwami hovering in front of her. The little deity pressed a tiny finger to her mouth in a gesture to stay quiet, and pointed down at the floor. Marinette wrapped her arms tighter around the wooden beam, and looked. 

A girl’s shrill, annoyed voice cut through the sounds of the police gathered outside. 

“Get out of my way! Fucking mayor of Paris, coming through!” 

Into the club came Chloe Bourgeois, flanked by the mayor of Paris, an older, balding man who had been elected to office that past fall. She looked angry enough to start swinging, and the police let her through, not without some hesitation. 

“Daddy, get them to let him go,” said Chloe, pointing at Chat Noir. 

Marinette looked at Tikki in shock. “The mayor is Chloe’s father?!”

The kwami nodded sagely, and Marinette wondered how she had known. 

“Come now, let the boy go,” said the mayor, smiling kindly at the officer. 

Chat Noir, surprisingly, seemed embarrassed. “Mayor Bourgeois…hey…”

“Young man, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do. But we will handle that after these fine officers leave your property, yes?” said the mayor, with a pointed look at the assembled police officers.

The redheaded officer who had been interrogating Alya gave the mayor a dirty sneer, but gestured to his personnel. 

“We’ll settle this with your office,” he said to the mayor, who only nodded and waved them on. 

Slowly, the club patrons got to their feet, as the officers trickled out the door. Chat Noir was released from his cuffs, and a very shaken-looking Pharaoh came up and took both his wrists, checking them over for injuries. 

“Any lasting damages are coming out of your rent. You know that, boy,” Mayor Bourgeois said to Chat. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The mayor started walking out, with a glance backward at his daughter. “Fine. Come on, darling. That’s that settled.”

Chloe stared at Chat Noir for several seconds, and he stared back. 

“Have you seen Adrien Agreste?” Chloe asked him, her words slow and deliberate. 

Chat seemed unsurprised by this, even though Marinette was so shaken that she almost fell right out of the rafters. His face softened as he took in Chloe’s crossed arms and quivering shoulders.

“I haven’t seen him for a very long time,” said Chat, his voice almost sad. 

She nodded, just once, as if they had come to accord, and then she turned on her heel and followed her father out into the afternoon sunlight. 

The door slammed shut behind them.

\--------------------

It took a quick return to Miraculous Ladybug form to get down from the rafters, but once Marinette was on the ground, she sort of wished she had just jumped. 

Sous-Terre was empty again. The fighters had left in pairs and groups over the course of a few minutes. Almost none of them could recall what happened, and even though more than a few asked Chat for details, he refused to share. Jade Turtle offered to walk Alya home after it became apparent that Marinette was nowhere to be seen, and the two of them left hand in hand. 

Chat Noir was the last to leave, and when he finally did, Marinette could swear he sent a look up at her hiding place above the fairy lights. 

But there she was, alone, the last one in the club and one of the only ones who knew what had happened to it. 

Marinette had just reached the door when her cell phone, which had somehow survived the Miraculous’ transformation and remained tucked in the waistband of her leggings, started vibrating with an incoming call. She pulled it out dubiously, and saw a number that she didn’t recognize. She answered it anyway. 

The voice that came pouring out into her ear was just barely recognizable. 

“ _WHERE IS ADRIEN?_ ”

“…Mr. Agreste?” 

“I KNOW YOU’RE AT THAT CLUB, MARINETTE. WHERE IS ADRIEN?” yelled Gabriel Agreste. 

Her boss, prim and serious Gabriel Agreste, had called her personal cell phone from what Marinette could only assume to be his own personal cell phone. He sounded about two seconds away from reaching through the phone and strangling her. 

“I’m sorry, sir…I really don’t know where he is,” Marinette said, baffled. 

“Don’t you lie to me,” said Gabriel, “I know he’s there somewhere. Miss Bour- I know he’s there.” 

“I can look for him, but sir, I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Marinette had been holding it together pretty well, she’d thought. The residual adrenaline had kept her emotions at bay, and she had managed to make it through the entire afternoon without crying. Now, the tears starting flowing. 

“Mr. Agreste, I’m sorry, I really don’t know!” she sobbed.

“Okay.” Gabriel’s voice was suddenly cold. “Okay. I believe you. But if you see him, you tell him that he is never allowed to leave my sight again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who has come back to this story after my unreasonable absence, I love you more than words can describe. There will be an ending to this AU, I promise you that.


End file.
